Forgotten Memories
by Zacha
Summary: Sherlock is thought to have died in an explosion. There are enemies who wants to play with and manipulate him and his life. Can an injured and vulnerable Sherlock Holmes be saved from both his enemies and himself in time? **CONTAINS SPOILERS for series 1 & 2
1. Introduction Chapter 1

**Forgotten Memories**, Introduction Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**Author's note:** This story stands alone. However, the character and relationship developments are from Deleted Memories. The first few chapters are an introduction.

******For those of you who read the end of Deleted Memories, this version has some changes from the preview and also have added and extended material. T rated but some future chapters may be M.

******A special thank you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review. It is encouraging as well as helpful.

Enjoy.

* * *

"_**Everyone has his day and some days last longer than others**__."_ ~ Winston Churchill

* * *

Moments in time, linked together by the decisions that are made. A series of choices. That is all that life really was. Forty–eight hours; or two thousand- eight hundred and eighty minutes; or one hundred and seventy two thousand, eight hundred seconds if it is preferred.

That is all that it took to bring him to this moment, this impossible moment and this impossible and painful choice.

* * *

**48 Hours Earlier.**

"**Mrs. Hudson!"** Sherlock's annoyed voice bellowed through the flat as he paced back and forth with nervous energy. John sighed as he sat cross-legged in his chair. He briefly glanced to look at his flatmate and friend before lowering his head again as he tried to read the morning newspaper.

Mrs. Hudson came hurriedly up the stairs with a questioning look on her face. Sherlock stopped his pacing, and stood with his hands behind his back and stared at her with an expression he usually reserved for suspects that he was trying to intimidate.

"Where. Are. My. Thumbs, Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson looked innocently at Sherlock before replying. "Your thumbs are still in the refrigerator right behind the carrots, Sherlock."

"No. The thumbs in the tub of water, not the thumbs in the Ziploc!"

"Why do you need two sets of thumbs?" John interrupted without taking his eyes off the newspaper that he was reading.

Sherlock turned to John, but not before rolling his eyes with exasperation. "I told you John. It was an experiment on a new method to extract fingerprints from bodies that have been in the water for longer than twenty-four hours."

"You could put all the thumbs in the same place." John offered helpfully.

Sherlock body stiffened as he looked condescendingly at John. He spoke with a false calm.

"John, I thought that you were the exception to the, _everyone is an idiot_ rule, do not let me rethink my position."

John ignored his friend as he turned the page and looked at the advertisements.

Sherlock returned his attention back to their landlord as he deduced her. Mrs. Hudson looked guiltily at the wall, which she suddenly found fascinating. His eyes widened slightly, he locked eyes with her and spoke with a forced calm. "Mrs. Hudson," he started, raising both eyebrows.

"Well dear, you said to get rid of the thumbs. I thought I heard you say to get rid of the water not the Ziploc thumbs. By the way, I think the ears have gone bad too," she offered sweetly.

"Oy." John whispered as he moved the paper to the side so that he could see Sherlock's face. He saw his face turn a bright red. The detective's fair skin tone only exaggerated the color change.

"Now Sherlock," John started, "Take a deep breath and count to three."

"Three?" Sherlock said quietly to himself as he glanced at his flatmate, "Alright John."

"One."

He turned his attention back to Mrs. Hudson as he walked toward her.

"Two."

He advanced more as his voice rose slightly in volume. Hudson's eyes widened.

"**Three!"**

He bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"Ooooow." Mrs. Hudson exited the flat quickly before Sherlock could start his rant about how he would have to start his experiment all over.

John resumed reading his paper. "Well that was lovely." Both John and Mrs. Hudson were used to his outbursts.

Sherlock deflated instantly as he allowed his body to collapse on the chair sighing. One leg rested on the arm of the chair. He frowned and crossed his arms.

"You need to apologize." He heard John voice float from behind the paper before adding, "You know if you throw your own failed experiments away none of this would happen."

"It was **not** failed. I was simply going in another direction." Sherlock pouted.

"You know, it also wouldn't kill you to help clean up the flat a bit." John turned the newspaper to the next page.

Sherlock gave John a look as he snorted at the idea of actually cleaning. When John heard the out of place sound, he fully lowered his paper for the first time.

Sherlock smiled dangerously as he opened his mouth to respond to John when the ringing of his mobile phone interrupted him.

Sherlock stretched into his inner suit pocket and put his mobile phone to his ear."Holmes," Sherlock answered. A smile spread across his face. He sat up straight and easily extracted his right leg from the arm of the chair to join the left on the floor. "Of course, how can I refuse?" He was heard saying as he disconnected the call.

The earlier disagreement was instantly forgotten as John folded then put down the newspaper. He waited quietly.

"The Lead's case. Lestrade wants us to investigate. A new body was found. This one was different from the rest, there was a note." Before he could finish, footsteps were heard.

"Yoo-hoo," Mrs. Hudson was heard saying. "Greg is outside."

Sherlock got up as he cleared his throat. He walked over to his coat and grabbed it. He stopped at Mrs. Hudson and said, "Um… Thank you Mrs. Hudson." He smiled at her, and she smiled back and kissed him on the cheek while she squeezed his hand. John smiled as he put on his coat and grabbed his mobile. That was as close to an apology as Sherlock came.

Everyone understood.

John smiled at Sherlock as they made their way down the stairs. He opened his mouth to comment, but was interrupted.

"Shut up John." Sherlock said calmly as he opened the door for John. "After you," he said as they slid into the back seat.

The motorcar disappeared as it easily blended into the busy morning traffic.


	2. Introduction Chapter 2

Sherlock story

**Forgotten Memories,** Introduction chapter 2

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**Author's note:** This story stands alone. However, the character and relationship developments are from Deleted Memories. The first few chapters are an introduction.

**For those of you who read the end of Deleted Memories, this version has some changes and also have added and extended material. T rated but some future chapters may be M.

**A special thank you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review. It is encouraging as well as helpful.

Enjoy.

* * *

"_**Courage is the first of human qualities because it is the quality that guarantees all the others."**_~ Winston Churchill

* * *

**11 Hours Earlier**

Sherlock frowned as he sat in the back seat of the London cab. Something about the last case bothered him. This crime scene was like the one yesterday. The two murders were exactly alike with one exception, the note. The note seemed to be written by someone other than the murderer. It was almost as if someone was trying to get his attention.

He doubted that the motivation was to be a helpful citizen.

He went into his mind, and cataloged data, searched, and organized information as the cab drove. His eyes opened suddenly. Sherlock glanced to his right as buildings, cars, and people, passed rapidly by the window of the cab.

He had not heard from John in two hours. That in and of itself was not unusual. However, he had a sense that something was slightly off-center. He called John's mobile. He would ask if he picked up milk as an excuse. He often told him that he could not abide John mothering him. Sherlock knew he would never hear the end of his hypocrisy if John realized that Sherlock was calling to simply make sure that he was okay.

There was no answer.

The Consultant Detective frowned. He was only two blocks away from the flat. He no longer cared if he seemed a little motherly he called again. He let it ring until he heard the prerecorded message where John's voice gave instructions to leave a message.

Sherlock was not sure why his heart started to race. It was not unusual to not hear from John for two hours. It was unusual however for him to not answer his phone. After the events of Ayyad's kidnapping and torture of Sherlock some eleven months ago, both men made an unspoken agreement to answer their phones immediately, even if it was just to say that they could not talk at the time.

Sherlock barely waited for the cab to come to a stop. He literally threw money at the cabby then ran into the flat. He almost bumped into Mrs. Hudson. His arms came out instinctively to steady them both.

"Have you seen John?" Sherlock asked rapidly. "No dear, last time I saw him was this morning in the…" She never got a chance to finish her sentence. Sherlock raced up the stairs taking two at a time.

"John… **John**, answer me!" He stood still as his eyes only traveled observing every detail of the moderately sized space. There was no sign of break-in. He looked at the table. John habitually puts his phone on that table when he entered the flat.

His phone rang. He looked at the screen. It indicated that the call came from John's phone. This however, did not give him comfort.

"Holmes." He answered with a grim expression.

"Mr. Holmes, do you know where Doctor Watson is?"

* * *

A/N: The reference to torture was taken from Deleted Memories starting in chapter 47.

Tell me your thoughts.

Lots of Love, Zacha


	3. Introduction Chapter 3

Sherlock story

**Forgotten Memories,** Introduction Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you ; ****waterbaby84****, ****socalrose****, ****Burning Phoenix****, ****Jenna Yemowa****, ****Peacefreakx3****, ****eohippus****, ****Nietzsches**** and Voldemort101 who PM me. Cyber hugs for all!****

**Author's note:** This story stands alone. However, the character and relationship developments are from Deleted Memories. The first few chapters are an introduction.

**For those of you who read the end of Deleted Memories, this version has some changes and also have added and extended material. T rated but some future chapters may be M.

**A **special thank** you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review. It is encouraging as well as helpful.

Enjoy.

* * *

_**"Courage is the first of human qualities because it is the quality that guarantees **_

_**all the others."**_~ Winston Churchill

* * *

**42 Minutes Earlier**

John has been unaccounted for eleven hours. They arrived at the remote abandoned weapons factory. Several other buildings on the same site surrounded the building. For over ten minutes, they searched and fought their way up to where they were now. They did not have time to wait for backup.

The small group moved through the building with guns drawn. They had separated into groups of two but Sherlock had disappeared. He was more concern with finding John than proper protocol. Two agents were killed and five of the general's men. This was the very last of Ayyad's generals. Broken and with nothing to lose, he had sworn his revenge against Holmes. He stood in the middle of a room now waiting. A gun was in one hand and phone with entered codes in another.

He heard them approaching and smiled as he saw him enter the room with a gun in hand. Random gunshots were still heard in the background. He knew that Holmes was not alone and soldiers were engaging whomever it was close by. The soldier's smile widened as he saw him.

Sherlock slowly entered with gun drawn. The great Sherlock Holmes, he thought as he glanced at him. The general then glanced at the man handcuffed to the chair. His smile faded when he saw another man come into the room. He had seen him before. He believed he was the DI. He was suddenly outnumbered, something he had not counted on.

John locked eyes with Sherlock and nodded discreetly. Sherlock quickly turned his attention back to the general.

"Let him go, if I don't shoot you I'm sure Mr. Holmes here will be all too happy to, and he's a pretty decent shot." Lestrade looked the general in the eyes without flinching.

The general shifted the gun quickly from Holmes to John's head then said. "Private conversation. Do shut up and lower your gun." He turned his attention back to Holmes. "Mr. Holmes I know you're trying to get closer so stop or you'll have to pick up Doctor Watson's brain from the floor." Sherlock and Lestrade instantly stopped moving. Anger flashed on DI Lestrade's face, but he did not say another word. He however did not lower his gun.

"So here we are, Mr. Holmes."

"Let him go," Sherlock said simply with an unreadable face.

"If I let him go, you'll never know the truth Mr. Holmes."

"And that would be?" The Consultant Detective's eyes traveled pass the soldier as he cataloged the general layout of the room.

"That you're just like the rest of us. That when it comes to your life and the life of another you would choose your own."

The soldier paused for dramatic effect before continuing.

"The concept of dying a heroic death Mr. Holmes is romantic. The reality is terrifying. If given a choice you will choose yourself just like the rest of us." The general patted John on the head. Anger flashed in John's eyes but he said nothing.

"I actually do not plan to die today and I will not allow John to die either." Sherlock said casually.

"Mr. Holmes, it's amusing to see you try to win a hand when you're holding no cards." He smiled as he held up the phone for the Consultant Detective to see. He then pushed the send button. Lestrade's eyes became wide as he glanced at Holmes for a reaction but the consultant's eyes were unreadable, his face was blank.

Sherlock looked the soldier up and down silently as he came to a conclusion. "You have a way out of here. You pushed the button. You want me to live with the horror of my cowardly decision so you have some other quicker way out. Opposite the way we came. You clearly do not want or plan to die today." Sherlock paused looking at him dangerously now, "You must know that plans can change."

Sherlock's tone was mocking.

"Clearly your loyalty has limits. Do not think we are the same." There was a brief pause, "What now?"

Anger flashed on the general's face as he quickly and un-expectantly injected a drug in John's upper arm straight through his shirt. A surprised yelp came from John.

"Uh… Uh… Uh." The general's voice stopped both men that chose to run a few steps when they heard John cry out. The general smirked at the look on Holmes' face. The cool almost bored exterior cracked and he was casting worried glances at John while anger burned in his eyes. John tried to reassure Sherlock with his eyes but he was starting to blink a little more rapidly than normal and his tongue repeatedly came out and licked his suddenly dry lips without John realizing it.

"Well, look at the time. I'd better be off. My work here is about done," the general said mockingly. "One more thing then I'll allow you to choose, Mr. Holmes."

He took out another syringe. "Do you remember this, Mr. Holmes?" Holmes looked at the dark liquid contemplatively then paled. "Do you remember the unbearable pain it caused you when she had you in the lab? We improved it. It has two steps now. The first injection shall we say… prepares you. The second, this one causes unimaginable pain and hypersensitivity to all things unpleasant."

The general smirked satisfied when he saw a brief flash of fear when Holmes looked at the doctor. Holmes quickly covered the emotion. "It's been perfected. I can tell by your pale expression that you remember it well. You'll be able to hear the good Doctor Watson screaming as you walk away."

"Well," he looked at his watch again, "Maybe running would be better."

"One more thing and this really is the last thing." The general's smile suddenly widened as he looked at Lestrade. Sherlock saw his face. "Say goodbye."

Everything happened at once.

He heard footsteps behind him. He heard John slurring a warning at Lestrade the same time that a click was heard. Sherlock reacted by pushing Lestrade down. The sound of bullets impacting flesh was heard. He heard Lestrade's gun discharge and the popping sound returned in their direction. As Sherlock lay on his side, he saw the general's hand coming downward in a swing with the syringe.

Sherlock fired.

* * *

She walked through the elegant wooden doors into a conference room. It had twelve key people inside. Anthea walked quickly up to the group as her fingers danced across her phone gracefully. Everyone stopped talking and turned to the agent, giving her their full attention. They have spent the last eleven-hours going over CCTV footage carefully and activating the tracker in John Watson's telephone.

The approximate location was given to the DI and a small group of agents who were nearby. It, in Mycroft's mind, was the lesser of two evils. He knew that Sherlock would not wait for more men so he asked Lestrade to accompany him.

He was grateful that Sherlock had not run off by himself, as he probably would have done a half a year ago. Since then, the brothers' relationship has slowly healed. Sherlock was more willing to ask for help and Mycroft was more willing to give him space. All within reason of course. Mycroft did admit to himself that it was a very difficult thing to do, but he came to trust in Sherlock more now. Not just as his little brother, who in his mind was always in need of protecting, but as a capable young man who have saved his life and the lives of many some several months ago.

His brother was unaware that Mycroft was personally going to the location in question. What Mycroft was not aware of, was that Greg Lestrade had no intentions of not backing up Sherlock, with or without the elder Holmes approval. John had become important to him as well.

"Sir Lestrade called they've located what they believe to be the building that Doctor Watson is being kept in."

Mycroft knew the answer to the next question. "Is Sherlock waiting for backup to arrive?"

"No sir," Anthea said with a frown. Mycroft squeezed the bridge of his nose and ground his teeth together. He felt another _Sherlock Holmes is being difficult_ headache coming on.

Sir Agent Thomas is on his way. I have dispatched ambulances as well as the local police, agents and the bomb unit. Mycroft almost smiled. She almost always anticipated his requests now. She was good. He gave a rare nod of appreciation. She gave a rare smile in return even though it was a somber one.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's move. I think the use of haste is in order." Everyone left the room, some in hurried walks, and some in a jog, others in a slow run.

* * *

**25 minutes to go**

"… S-Sherlock w-wake up." John said kneeling beside him. He wiped away the blood from his hands on his jeans. He had just finished tying a ripped piece of shirt to Sherlock's leg.

Disjointed images slowly knitted together to form coherent thought. He blinked trying to clear his vision. The first sensation was pain. Sherlock felt immediate sharp and stabbing pain. It slammed into him like a train. It radiated from his left leg. Sherlock could not help to let out a moan. He pushed back another moan he felt that was trying to escape pass his tightly closed lips.

Lestrade was already helping him sit up. The action caused him to grimace. Sharp pains shot through his leg in protest, his head was not feeling much better. He must have hit it hard on the concrete floor he decided. He felt a headache coming on but said nothing.

Sherlock looked at both men. John was starting to waver on his feet. It was obvious that John was trying to fight the drug in his system but was losing.

Sherlock glanced around. The general was dead and Lestrade managed to shoot the soldier who tried to kill him.

He looked at the ground next to the general, grateful the filled syringe lay close by the man. John had not been injected. Holmes looked down and exhaled the breath he did not realize that he was holding.

"How long was I out?" Sherlock asked quickly. Lestrade already helped him into a sitting position. He now attempted to get up with Lestrade's help. Lestrade and John looked at each other.

"Just a few minutes." Lestrade said.

"Exactly," Sherlock looked him in the eyes while trying to blink back a headache.

"I don't know five minutes," the DI said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

Lestrade sighed, "Ten."

Sherlock closed his eyes and made a decision then opened them.

"Lestrade, John needs your help. Go on ahead. I'm right behind I promise."

"H-Hell no! Take Sherlock, I'm likely to become a babbling idiot soon anyway! Leave me. I w-will not leave S-Sherlock!" John was angry.

"**Shut up, BOTH of you!" **Lestrade said with irritation. Both men became quiet and looked at Lestrade, shocked by his outburst. "I'm not leaving **either** one of you. Now do we waste time arguing or move?"

"**Move!"** Both men passionately said at the same time. Everyone simultaneously looked at each other in surprise. This caused everyone to smile despite the situation.

"Sherlock, you take this shoulder. John, take the other and let's go." Both men quickly followed Greg Lestrade's instructions and they were off. Sherlock had a pained expression with every step but simply grimaced. He did not say a word.

Sherlock took out his phone to make a call without slowing his movements.

The line was instantly picked up. "I'm on my way, Sherlock."

Sherlock did not bother to ask how the elder Holmes knew that he was in trouble. "Better hurry brother dear."

He heard Mycroft breathing heavily as if he was moving.

Both brothers knew it was probably best to hang up their mobile phones. Neither did. They held it in their hands as they both moved just listening to the other breathe. Finally, Sherlock felt his strength fading, he was starting to breathe heavier, and sweat was forming on his face and neck. He knew he had to concentrate on moving.

He glanced at John. John was not looking good.

"Well Mycroft… time… to go… I'll see you… soon." Sherlock said breathing a little heavier now. His brother's voice stopped him from disconnecting.

"Sherlock," Mycroft hesitated, "Keep your word."

"Don't… understand," Sherlock said confused as they passed through the second thick metal door.

"You said you'll see me soon you sod, do keep up," Mycroft said with a rare display of humor. Sherlock knew it was for his benefit. It worked he noticed as he chuckled.

"I'll do my utmost… Mycroft." With regret, Sherlock hung up the phone as the three men moved quickly disappearing through another heavy metal door.


	4. Introduction Chapter 4

Sherlock story

**Forgotten Memories**, Introduction Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you ; ****waterbaby84****, ****socalrose****, ****Burning Phoenix****, ****Jenna Yemowa****, ****Peacefreakx3****, ****eohippus****, ****Nietzsches**** and Voldemort101 who PM me. Cyber hugs for all!****

**Author's note:** This story stands alone. However, the character and relationship developments are from Deleted Memories. The first few chapters are an introduction.

**For those of you who read the end of Deleted Memories, this version has some changes and also have added and extended material. T rated but some future chapters may be M.

**A special thank you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review. It is encouraging as well as helpful.

Enjoy.

* * *

"_**Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."**_

~ Lao Tzu

* * *

**15 Minutes E****arlier**

Sherlock and Lestrade limped along. John was becoming increasingly lethargic but his speed was good as long as he was held. Sherlock, not for the first time, asked Lestrade to take John and leave him.

"I'm right behind you… we tried, there isn't enough… time." Sherlock tried again as he now limped along. He was starting to shake slightly.

"Then we need to hurry." Lestrade struggled and was heaving heavily as he tried to help the two men. Sweat plaster Lestrade's shirt to his body.

Sherlock bit his lower lip now. He did not want to say it aloud, but he himself was becoming dizzy and knew that if he passed out, Lestrade would not leave either one of them.

They would all die.

Sherlock's mind tried to come up with a way, an angle he had not considered but found none. If he had known where the alternate escape was located in the building, they could use that escape route. It was probably under some kind of bomb shelter. However, he did not know its location and the one person who knew where it was, was dead.

He would not ask Lestrade to leave him again.

Sherlock had known Lestrade even longer than John. Back when Mycroft helped him to get clean from his pass drug problem and Lestrade helped him by promising him access to cases if he stayed clean. Lestrade would not leave him. At least not if he had a choice.

That was when Sherlock saw it. His mind calculated the possibilities that it would work, against the time that was left before the explosion. Sherlock looked grim.

"I'm sorry Lestrade… give me just… a second." He looked quickly and sat John on the desk. Sherlock sat beside John.

"Just for a few seconds," Lestrade said sternly. The DI walked close by and tried to catch his breath.

"John…" Sherlock put his hands on John's face and turned it toward him. "… You with me?" Sherlock breathed in heavily filling his lungs with air. Since he was not moving; his breathing started to even out and speaking became much easier.

"S… OK… Sher…," John slurred. He tried to smile as he fought to stay awake. John was swaying slightly even though he was seated on the metal desk.

Sherlock bit his lip concerned. "You're going to be alright John." There was a slight pause.

"Um John…, thank you for…" Sherlock cleared his throat. There was too much to say. There was not enough time.

"Hum," John smiled sleepily. "My Sher-ok," John said as he smiled.

"I suppose you're right, John." He smiled as he looked intently at his friend, the person who first somehow climbed around his self-constructed barricade and defenses.

"Your Sherlock… Always"

Sherlock squeezed John's hand and almost chuckled. Even though John occasionally drank, he realized that he had never witnessed him drunk. He wondered if this was what John would be like if he became drunk.

Sherlock sighed.

"Lestrade I saw something in the corner. If you get it for me, I could use it as a crutch so that we could go faster." Lestrade nodded and moved quickly to the dimly lit corner.

"Sherlock I don't see what you're talking about?" Lestrade looked around the dimly lit room to the opposite corner. His back was turned to the two men.

A loud thud followed by a click was heard.

Lestrade turned around quickly and felt his body move toward the door.

He ran up to the locked door and pounded through the glass. He was able to only see Sherlock's face through the filthy glass.

"Sherlock," He pounded on the door, "How do I open it?" Lestrade was frantic. He yelled so that Sherlock would be able to hear through the thick glass and metal.

"You can't. Go take John. Now." Sherlock yelled back.

Lestrade froze. "You did this on purpose," He whispered. Sherlock could not hear, but he saw in Lestrade's eyes the moment that realization came to the DI.

"Damn you," Lestrade whispered to himself as he fought back tears.

"Sherlock," he said loudly.

"Leave now… you should make it with only the two of you," Sherlock yelled.

Lestrade looked Sherlock in the eyes and did not hide his tears.

"No sentimental gestures Lestrade… you know how I detest them. Go now." Sherlock hesitated, "Take care of John."

Lestrade was frozen to the spot.

Sherlock yelled, "**Go! Now Man**!" He used his best-annoyed voice.

Sherlock's voice shook Lestrade out of his haze. Lestrade nodded once and went to John. He was reclining on the desk. He slapped John's face hard enough to get his attention. He picked him up and put his arm around his shoulder.

John looked at Lestrade then frowned. "Where… Sherl?" He slurred.

Lestrade bit his lower lip, "John I need you to listen," John stuck out his tongue wetting his lips as he concentrated. He looked like a five year old.

"Sherlock wants you to run very fast." Lestrade hesitated hating himself for the lie. "He'll meet you outside."

"Hum, K," John said concentrating.

Lestrade looked back at the glass, Sherlock was not there; he apparently did not want John to see him.

Lestrade took John under the arms and yelled, "Go!"

John took it as a challenge. They ran for their lives, Lestrade did not look back again. He did not have the strength to. If he had, he would have seen a face looking at them through a small dirty window with one hand pressed to the glass.

* * *

Mycroft sat in the passenger seat with his hands on his umbrella, his grip was so tight on his umbrella that his knuckles were white. "Faster," he said through gritted teeth.

"Sir, it's to maximum speed already," The driver glanced nervously at Mr. Holmes as he willed the Mercedes to go faster. A clenched hand came to Mycroft's closed mouth as his thoughts went to his brother.

* * *

He watched them disappear through a set of doors. Sherlock slide down the wall. He sat against the wall as he used it for support. He no longer tried to hide the pain in his leg and allowed a groan. He started to feel dizzier now.

He thought of his two friends running for their lives. Sherlock grimaced from the pain as he glanced at his watch.

"They're going to make it," he whispered weakly.

They are going to make it, his mind repeated.

* * *

"_**There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends."~**_ John 15:13 NLT

* * *

**Current Day and Time.**

Choices. He had just made his impossible choice. In the end, there was no choice. They would live. John would live. If this was the last gift he gave him, so be it.

He was trembling slightly now all over, his lips suddenly became dry. He licked his lips to wet them. He thought of those he cared about one by one. It was a short list, he noted with some amusement. There was Irene, and Molly. There was Lestrade. Lestrade would feel guilty, Sherlock was regretful of that but it was unavoidable. John would take care of Mrs. Hudson.

His thoughts lingered on Mycroft. His lips started to tremble.

He laughed sadly, as he thought about how cross Mycroft was going to be. Not only was he showing emotion he was about to die. "Sorry Mycroft," Sherlock whispered as the throbbing pain became worse. Sherlock closed his eyes tightly and ground his teeth together hissing as a wave of pain washed over him. In a few minutes, the pain subsided and he opened his eyes as he tried to regulate his breathing.

He shakily looked around. He never noticed how empty the space was.

He choked back what he thought sounded to his own ears suspiciously like a sob.

"I thought I was ready," Sherlock whispered breathlessly, "I don't want to die… I need more time…" He swallowed hard as he noticed his limbs shaking more.

"I need more time." He laughed weakly as tears rebelled and rolled down his eyes. He decided that he would not try to stop them. What did it matter? No one was around to witness him falling apart. He kept nervously biting his trembling lower lip.

"Dying is not quite as dull as you thought, is it Mr. Holmes?" He whispered while smirking to himself. He fought to stay awake.

* * *

Lestrade was covered with sweat as he ran and half-dragged John along. John was running fast but a bit off-balance. Lestrade had to concentrate on keeping them balance and upright but at least he did not have to worry about speed.

* * *

A few minutes passed.

Sherlock had slid down the wall. He was too tired even to lay against it. He lay on the cold concrete floor now. He blinked more often. He would take longer to open his eyes. He was also becoming increasingly drowsy.

* * *

Mycroft could see the building in the distance now. Other police units, agents, and ambulances should be arriving soon. He had managed to beat them there. His heart was racing impossibly fast.

He had a grim look on his face as he glanced at his watch.

* * *

Sherlock was going in and out of consciousness. The scientist in him was curious about the process of death and cataloged his symptom during his more lucid periods. The man in him was terrified. He no longer felt pain and was starting to hallucinate. "Visual and auditory hallucinations," Sherlock slurred with what was supposed to be a smirk.

He thought he heard footsteps and voices. John's voice?

John.

He tried to keep his mind off his situation. "Well," he thought, "There are more pleasant places to be." He could no longer keep his eyes open anyway.

His eyes rolled under his lids and he barely moved weaken fingers. He entered his mind palace, and closed the doors for the last time. This time it wasn't to retrieve information or catalog data he was on a mission.

He heard the familiar soft violin music that played constantly in the background. He smiled at the familiarity and comfort of it. Sherlock's shoes tapped as he walked briskly through the marbled halls. He let his hands stroke the beautiful oak doors but he did not slow down his quick pace. It was three doors down. He had to get there.

Paintings on the walls of this palace were painted with the quality of the master artists. He looked at each one.

Each canvas passed was the painting of someone of significance in Sherlock's life. His hand stroked each picture without slowing his pace.

One painting was of his mother. There were paintings of Molly, of Irene, and one was of Lestrade. The next painting passed was of Mrs. Hudson. The last seemed to be specially framed and slightly apart from the rest. It was of Mycroft. Sherlock's left hand touched and lingered on his brother's painting.

There was no painting of John on the walls.

Sherlock delayed leaving Mycroft's painting. The palace seemed to shake in a gentle rhythm. He glanced up. He was not afraid but he had to hurry. He smiled at Mycroft's painting and chuckled sadly. He stood at Mycroft's painting, hesitating again for the briefest of a moment. He took a deep breath and walked away.

* * *

Lestrade and John made it out the building but Lestrade did not slow his pace down. He knew that he had to get a safe distance away. He grunted from the effort, he could feel John pulling heavier on him now. John would collapse soon.

In the back of his mind, Lestrade heard the wail of sirens coming from a distance. He saw a black car in front of them by at least a mile. None of that mattered now.

There was no time!

* * *

Mycroft barely allowed the car to stop before opening the door and running out. He saw collapsed bodies on the ground a good distance from the building. They were heaving heavily. He was relieved that they had made it out in time. His relief was short lived as he got closer and realized that there were two bodies not three.

John was on the ground with his eyes closed. Mycroft got close and asked one word, "Sherlock?" Lestrade had tear-stained eyes. Lestrade looked wordlessly toward the building.

Mycroft stiffen, he had never seen Lestrade cry. Mycroft twirled in a half circle his coat spreading like a cape as he deduced. "No," he whispered as his eyes widen and he looked toward the building.

Cars were pulling up as Anthea and Thomas and several agents were getting out. The ambulance was pulling up as well. The police was close.

Mycroft dropped his umbrella and ran toward the building.

Thomas noticed Holmes out of the corner of his eye. Thomas heart dropped, as he instantly knew what happened. Whether it costs him his job or not, he had to stop him. Thomas did not notice when he started to run. Thomas heard the tapping of heels and realized that Anthea was also running in an attempt to stop their boss.

Thomas noticed as he ran gaining, that this was the second time he had ever seen the normally composed Mycroft Holmes run, both times it was to save his brother.

* * *

The mind palace swaying was getting worse. He ignored it. It did not matter he had made it. Sherlock was where he wanted to be. He was safe.

Sherlock turned the handle and allowed tears to silently roll down his eyes freely now. As he entered the beautiful room he smiled, he was there.

He was always there.

Sherlock looked at his smiling face and his own smile widened.

* * *

Mycroft was still a distance from the door. He ignored the multiple shout from several agents behind him to stop. One word drove him forward. "Sherlock."

* * *

In both worlds, Sherlock extended a hand.

In both worlds, one word was spoken from Sherlock's lips.

"John."

* * *

The force of rapidly expanding air drove Mycroft backwards. He felt pain in his shoulder and side as his body connected with concrete and air was forcefully expelled from his lungs.

The ground trembled. A deafening thunderous sound pierced the air as the building disintegrated. The building collapsed in and on itself, as bellows of gray and black smoke rose and broke away from the building. People ran, taking shelter as wreckage, soot, and fragments rained to the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock story

**Forgotten Memories**, Introduction Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you ; ****waterbaby84****, ****socalrose****, ****Burning Phoenix****, ****Jenna Yemowa****, ****Peacefreakx3****, ****eohippus****, ****Nietzsches**** and Voldemort101 who PM me. Cyber hugs to all! ****

**Author's note:** This story stands alone. However, the character and relationship developments are from Deleted Memories. The first few chapters are an introduction.

**For those of you who read the end of Deleted Memories, this version has some changes and also have added and extended material. T rated but some future chapters may be M.

**A special thank you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review. It is encouraging as well as helpful.

Enjoy.

* * *

" _**A brother. He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer **_

_**and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal."~**_ Gregg Levoy

* * *

Mycroft was dazed for a moment and lay down on the ground blinking until the realization came to him. Several hands pulled at him. He did not help or offer resistance. Dust from the building was blowing in the wind and had managed to blow on him, covering him completely from head to toe.

Thomas held one hand to his back to steady him. Anthea was already gone running for the emergency personnel. He heard the sound of blood pounding in his ears, and blinked away the grit from his eyes. He felt warm, thick liquid slowly drip down one side of his head.

He looked over and saw Lestrade with emergency personnel around him. Lestrade stared straight ahead not looking at anything. Tears were silently running down his cheeks.

John had finally passed out and was being transported to a trolley. Good, Mycroft thought. Let John sleep a little longer. The nightmare does not come when you dream. The nightmare comes when you wake.

Words were spoken; they were trying to get his attention. Someone asked if he was hurt, he almost smiled as tears began to roll down his eyes. He ignored them. It seemed that at least for today, he had joined the ranks of the emotional masses. Sherlock would have appreciated his hypocrisy.

Sherlock.

The tears flowed faster now. His eyes swam as images became distorted and noises started to disconnect.

He grabbed Thomas' sleeve and weakly spoke. "Search… Building… Sherlock." His eyes became more blurry. Consciousness was overrated, he thought.

The world faded to black.

* * *

Mycroft woke in the hospital bed. He deduced looking at John who was sitting in the chair, that he had been unconscious for over twenty-four hours. He winced as he turned his head. John looked at him as he gave a sad smile. He knew John would be there. They were all that they had left of Sherlock.

John patted Mycroft's hand before saying, "I'm here."

"I know, John." A tear rolled down his eyes as he looked at John. The pull of sleep took him. He did not resist.

* * *

"_**Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear." **__- Mark Twain_

* * *

Mycroft sat in his hospital bed. He would be discharged in the morning. John had not left his side day or night except for four hours to check on Lestrade. Lestrade was doing well physically, he only had a bruise from when Sherlock pushed him to the floor to save his life. It was his mind that everyone was concerned about. He took a few days off work, which was unheard of for the DI. John took Mrs. Hudson over to spend the afternoon with him and to make sure that he was alright.

He looked at John. Apparently, John had decided to expand Sherlock's makeshift family by the number of one. This gave Mycroft comfort in some small way. He had deduced that Sherlock had instructed John to take care of him, if anything should ever happen to him. John took his assignment seriously. The elder Holmes could not get rid of John even if he wanted to.

He found that he did not want to.

Mycroft's head had a wound dressing attached to his left temple. He had a few cuts and scrapes from falling rubble as well. He held the picture from Sherlock's bedroom in his hand. John brought it to him at his request. It was a picture of a skinny and lanky, pale-skinned boy with dark curly hair. He had one arm around his older, slightly overweight brother's shoulders. What was striking was the smile on both of their faces.

Mycroft smiled at the thought that no matter how bad things got between them, wherever Sherlock went, the picture went with him. During his faked suicide, the picture had mysteriously disappeared and reappeared when he revealed himself to John months later.

"Are you sure you're alright Mycroft." Mycroft sighed. He realized that he was holding the picture to his chest and had not moved in close to an hour.

"Quite," Mycroft sat up in bed. He grew tired of the bed and thought of sitting in the chair opposite John, but froze abruptly. He suddenly and vividly remembered the building site in his mind. Every sight, sound, even odor, floated back to him. It had not just blown-up but had actually disintegrated before his eyes.

Before he passed out.

Thoughts suddenly raced across his mind. Each new thought came more rapidly than the last.

_DNA testing. That would be the only way to identify Sherlock's remains. Even that would be difficult. His body would not be there. It was torn apart. No. Blown apart. Blown apart is more accurate. One must be accurate, must one not? Accuracy is important. My little brother's remains might be so blown apart, so destroyed, that they may not be able to find any body parts._

_Body parts._

_My little brother's body parts._

_Sherlock's body parts._

_Lock's body parts_

Mycroft did not notice that he had a death grip on the photo and his breathing was much too fast. He thought he heard a voice but he could not be sure.

The room melted away.

* * *

"… Mycroft can you hear me?"

Mycroft blinked rapidly as he closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing.

"What… happened," He said breathlessly as he looked around making a deduction. He was reclined in his hospital bed with John standing close over him. John had his hand on the ringer to summon the medical staff.

"Oh… Sorry John." Mycroft said. His breathing was almost a normal rate now.

"Quite falling apart I'm afraid, my apologies," Mycroft tried to rise up when John pushed him back down on the bed while instructing him to lay back for a few more minutes. Most men were afraid to touch Mycroft Holmes much less try giving him orders. Mycroft was amused despite the situation. John disappeared for a moment and reappeared with some juice and water.

"Can you drink some juice?" He asked, "I haven't noticed that you ate at all today or yesterday, your blood glucose levels must be low."

He placed one cup in front of Mycroft and stood crossed arm until he drank at least half the cup. "Your brother …" John tried again after he cleared his throat, "Your brother would kick my arse if I allowed you to not take care of yourself." John's hands paused for a moment as he poured out more juice into the cup. His hands shook slightly at the mention of Sherlock. Both chose to pretend not to notice.

John finally sat across from Mycroft bed again.

Mycroft took another sip, then picked back up the picture that had slid out his hand to the side of the bed. He looked at the picture and smiled. John noticed and was curious.

"Did I tell you about the first time that Sherlock did a proper deduction?"

"No"

"I was fourteen and home on holiday. Sherlock was only seven but even then, he was a handful. The servants were always kept busy. Apparently, he had some sort of an experiment going. He was warned that he was not to do anymore experiments outside of the second kitchen, and then only when supervised. I came into the dining room and sat close to Sherlock. I refused to leave until he confessed what he had done. He refused to get up and sat down with a look of discomfort on his face. I knew immediately what he had done so I sat there with the paper reading casually as I spoke to him. Sweat was starting to form on his face. Yet, he sat there determined. You know how stubborn he can be."

Mycroft paused slightly as he forced his emotions under control. "Suddenly, he looked me up and down; you know the look he gives when he is deducing you?"

"Yes, I know the one." John chuckled.

"He was livid. Sherlock had deduced that I had known all along that he was sitting on a failed experiment. One that was still warm by the way. He was outraged and stomped away after informing me of what I had done in the last hour. He was spot on by the way. Anyone else could not possibly have known."

"There he was walking away with a hole in his bloomer the heat had burned through. A patch of his pale bum was showing." Mycroft chuckled along with John. "I have never laughed so hard before," there was a longer pause, "… or since."

"He is," Mycroft cleared his throat again, "I mean was a pure terror, even when grown."

John was quiet for a moment then spoke.

"You said was."

"Yes John, one usually refers to the…," Mycroft stopped to gather his composure before continuing, "… the dead in the past tense."

"The building has not even been searched." John was becoming angry but did not want to take it out on Mycroft.

"John dear, are we having our first fight?" Mycroft almost smirked, "Well, maybe not the first."

John's breathing was increasing along with his anger.

"Mycroft, I don't understand. Why are you giving up so soon he could still be …"

"**What**!" Mycroft said with such venom and bitterness that John flinched and almost took a step back, "Alive?" He finished with barely a whisper.

John hesitated then said with grim determination.

"Yes!" John wondered if Mycroft thought that his mental health was in question. He wondered the same thing.

Mycroft laughed bitterly while glaring at John. "You were pleasantly asleep John. I was not . There were only two entrances to the building. Both were within view. There were no windows to climb out of this time. The building did not just blow up it disintegrated, John, right before my eyes. There was nothing left John nothi…" he could not finish. He closed his eyes now.

"I still feel him," John stood then said somewhat embarrassed.

Mycroft collapsed back heavily on the bed. His normally stoic face showed anguish.

John stood in place. His arms wrapped around himself as a silent protection. "I still feel him alive, Mycroft. It was the same when he, when we thought that he committed suicide. I almost went mad because everyone and thing told me that he was dead, including my own eyes. But, my heart disagreed. You can bloody well disagree or think me a bit nutty. Hell, I think the same." He ran a hand through his hair. "But, until my heart tells me otherwise, I'm siding with it!"

Mycroft said nothing but sat there. He reminded him of Sherlock when he got _in a mood_. It was both comforting and painful in its similarities.

"I didn't mean to upset you Mycroft," John said suddenly as he risked putting a hand on Mycroft's arm. "I do however mean what I said."

They looked at each other now, "John, I instructed them to turn every stone over. To treat this as a missing person not a homicide," He hesitated slightly, "You have to understand, it's just difficult to hope."

John was aware that Mycroft Holmes has always been a stoic, almost cold man. He guessed it was the Holmes upbringing. The rare times that Sherlock spoke of his childhood, it was hinted at that there were difficulties. John suspected physical abuse of Sherlock by his father. Emotions and feelings came rarely from the Holmes brothers and never in front of the _public_. The fact that Mycroft would first allow him to see his vulnerability, then reveal so much of himself, told John just how close to the edge emotionally that Mycroft was. Both brothers seem to almost not know what to do with emotions the rare times that they allowed them to run free.

"I know," John finally responded. "Go to sleep, I'll be here."

Mycroft did something rare, He listened, nodded, then closed his eyes while holding on to the picture. He was almost instantly asleep. His physical and emotional pain encouraging him on.

It was late now. John looked at the bed that Mycroft instructed the staff to bring in. He would lay in it soon. For now, he decided to sit near Mycroft in case he needed him, at least for an hour longer. Mycroft was the man who looked over a nation. John would be the man to look after Mycroft until his strength returned.

Three hours later, John lay down in the spare bed. He closed his eyes. He cleared his throat as he blinked back the tears. Giving in to the tears would mean he accepted what everyone was saying.

He did not.

Exhausted, he was asleep within minutes.

When John fell asleep, he spoke a name he had not spoken once since that explosion while awake. John said words like; your brother, he, him, once even the Consultant Detective, never his name.

However, now while dreaming, John mumbled a whisper, a prayer, a wish, "Sherlock…"

* * *

Half a world away, in a mansion, a pale-skinned man with dark hair in sleep spoke a name. He called out for help as he wrestled, laying on the softest of beds. He twisted in the finest silk sheets, while trapped in his beautiful caged prison. He fought against an evil that he would not remember in the morning. A whispered name escaped his lips, "L… Locked… Help me … John…"

The man's face turn back and forth more desperately now, while still asleep. One more whispered plea escaped.

"**John**."

* * *

A/N: let me know your thoughts, it is appreciated.

"I don't want to die, I want more time is taken from Third star. Warning : Don't watch without tissue. Benedict Cumberbatch is brilliant in it. Lots and Lots of tissue.

Love to all, Zacha


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock story

Forgotten Memories, Introduction Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you ; **ShiverandShamy, Puky2012, Prothoe, christistina, briongloid fiodoir, socalrose, Voldemort101, and hjohn302 **for your review of chapter 4, and 5. Thank you **waterbaby84, Burning Phoenix, Jenna Yemowa, Peacefreakx3, eohippus, Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. Cyber hugs to all! ****

**Author's note:** Thank you to the **495** readers of this story so far. **Thank you** for your support, you mean more than you know! Do not forget to leave a comment or review. :)

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

****A special thank** you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. **It is encouraging as well as helpful.**

Enjoy.

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**Love is not love until love's vulnerable**"~_ Theodore Roethke quotes

* * *

_**Current Day**_

John sat in Lestrade's kitchen by a table. The DI looked almost depressed. He was not sure what to tell him. He had to leave soon to get back to Mycroft.

John had been with Lestrade for an hour. Mycroft was doing better. He still did not want to leave for long. He did not trust Mycroft to eat or drink properly when he was distracted.

When he left Mycroft, he had a Mac on his lap. He was typing. He had a phone in one ear at the same time. He was keeping busy. He did occupy an important position in the government. The flurry of activity was both necessary and an effective means of distraction for the elder Holmes. Anthea was there with him. Other agents went in and out of the room.

He turned his attention back to Lestrade. He did not look like he had slept peacefully. He was not sure that the mentioning of this fact would be helpful or do more harm.

He made a decision and spoke.

"Greg. How are you sleeping? Not that any of us are sleeping well." John put his hand on his arm to encourage Lestrade to look at him. Greg would have periods where he would stare at the wall, unmoving.

"Um?" Greg Lestrade smiled apologetically at John, "Sorry, mind's wondered at bit."

"No worries mate." John frowned and hesitated. "I'm worried about you."

Lestrade chuckled darkly, "It would appear that I'm fine, John." He took a sip of beer.

"I didn't mean physically." Lestrade frowned and looked at John. He gave him his full attention.

"A bit early for that isn't it? I've never known you to drink this early," he hesitated again, "… or this much." John smiled to take the sting out of his words. Lestrade looked in John's eyes and did not see judgment just a mutual understanding that came from a shared pain.

Lestrade hesitated for a moment.

"I can see his eyes John." John looked at Lestrade. He waited patiently for him to clarify. "When we left him behind that locked door. He was giving the tough guy act, but for a second John, I saw … fear."

He took another sip. "Every time I close my eyes I see those eyes of his. Trying to be brave but scared just like the rest of us would be."

"You were a bit, shall we use the word, wobbly." Lestrade despite everything smiled at the memory. He stopped smiling as the memory turned to Sherlock. "We stopped to rest. He kept telling me to leave him and take you. I could tell that he was exhausted and hurting something fierce, but he never complained." Lestrade took another sip and looked at his mug as his fingers traced the edge of the glass.

He looked at John now. "You know how he tries to hide pain."

John nodded as he tried to smile. He did not trust his voice at the moment.

"He told me something about getting something in the corner he could lean on to go faster."

"John, I have known him for so long, back when he was a snot nose kid, a brilliant prodigy.

"How could I not see what he was planning? I know how he is." Lestrade took another sip.

"I should have known what he was planning John, I should have known." Lestrade frowned.

"Greg, how could you have known, it's not your fault. I feel guilt too Greg." John confessed a little brokenly.

"Why?" Lestrade asked.

"Same reason as you." John looked at Greg, "We're alive."

There was a brief silence. Lestrade smiled and John looked at him.

"What?"

"Just thinking of some of the less colorful titles he's had over the years." Lestrade looked at John.

"A psychopath, or a sociopath, that's what they called him. I use to think the same when I first met him, except, there was something else there. He would yell at people calling them all idiots. He would call other police officers dull, idiots, and morons. That mind of his could tear you apart in a second. Some people thought he was some sort of a freak. It's almost like he didn't know how to relate to another human being. But, no one could deny how brilliant he is, was." He took another sip and laughed.

"As you know John, he had a pass drug problem. I know that he still struggled some time but I don't think he had relapsed for years." He looked at John for confirmation.

"He came close twice but no. As you know, I found something in his room once. When his mum, well, you know. I came home early. He had the drugs on his bed staring at it. He did not fight when I took it away. I was cursing up a storm and calling him every unpleasant name I could think of. I insisted that I search his room. He said nothing; he just left and went into the living room playing his violin while Mrs. Hudson and I tore his room apart. I came out after I found nothing else. The smug bastard looked at me, smirked, then told me that I missed two. He told me where to look. I never would have found them if he didn't tell me where to look. The second time, he told me that it was a danger night for him. I didn't let him out of my sight. We got through it." John shrugged.

John smiled now. "Sherlock told me that he couldn't promise that he would never use again, he did promise to let me know if it got so bad that he felt the urge. He doesn't make promises easily, but when he does, I've never known him to break his word."

"Before you knew Sherlock, I was used to keeping an eye on him. Mycroft always watched him from a distance; you know how bad their relationship used to be. Sherlock started to disappear for long periods of time. I started to care for and worry about him. I thought he was using drugs again. I'm not proud of the fact, but I followed him." Lestrade looked at John waiting for disapproval at the confession.

"I would have done the same under the circumstances Greg," John confessed.

Lestrade nodded. "Do you know what I found, where I found him?"

John shook his head to indicate "no". He was suddenly very curious.

"I followed him for half an hour. He had a large bag with him and entered a tunnel in the worse part of town. He walked up to a person on the ground sleeping. He took out a blanket and covered him. He then took out water and a sandwich, laid them next to him and moved to the next person. He was helping the homeless. He would take some blankets. He'd handed sandwiches and water out to them. He knew some of them by name. Not all, but a few certain ones, he'd give money to. I looked at them for the first time John, really looked. Some were just kids like him, probably runaways. Others were older. Some still wore torn uniform jackets. He didn't judge them like the rest of us. They were all outcasts. Maybe he could relate. He felt like an outcast all his life I suppose. The next time we were at a crime scene together, Sherlock smirked at me. He told me that if I was going to follow him, that I needed to purchase less noisy shoes."

Lestrade chuckled.

"Sociopath?"

Lestrade smiled. "He is rude, obnoxious, proud, and clever as hell, and a bit of a bastard. He's a headache and a handful but a sociopath?"

Tears ran down Lestrade's face now.

"What's a sociopath anyway? Is that someone who helps people? Is that someone who runs into buildings with bombs to save you, then tell you what an idiot you were for being in there, after he saves you of course?"

Lestrade voice wavered now and his voice was a whisper.

"Is that someone who locks himself behind a door so that there would be a chance of his friends escaping? If that's a sociopath, sign me up to become one. The world needs more of them."

John, for the first time since the explosion felt tears running down his face. "I'm not giving up." Neither man was sure if John was talking to The DI or himself.

After a moment John asked.

"You OK?"

"No," he laughed.

He took his draft out and he said, "Cheers mate." He put the glass up to his mouth but did not drink. He got up and walked to the sink then poured the rest down the drain. "You better get back to that brother of his." His back was turned to John. He had both hands on the sink while he thought. "Thanks, talking helped, I think."

John got up and walked over to Lestrade. He put a lingering hand on his shoulder. Lestrade turned to smile at his friend. John smiled back and started to walk away.

"Um… John, maybe it'll be best if you just toss those in the trash bin on your way out." Lestrade nodded his head toward the alcohol.

"Sure mate," John said casually as he took the bottles and exited the door. He glanced at Lestrade before he closed the door.

He was still by the sink.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock story

Forgotten Memories, Introduction Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you ; **ShiverandShamy, Puky2012, Prothoe, christistina, briongloid fiodoir, socalrose, Voldemort101, and hjohn302 **for your review of chapter 4, and 5. Thank you **waterbaby84, Burning Phoenix, Jenna Yemowa, Peacefreakx3, eohippus, Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. Cyber hugs to all! ****

**Author's note:** Thank you to the **495** readers of this story so far. **Thank you** for your support, you mean more than you know! Do not forget to leave a comment or review. :)

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

****A special thank** you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. **It is encouraging as well as helpful.**

Enjoy.

* * *

_**"No one ever drowned in sweat."**_ ~ Dan Gable

* * *

_**Current Day**_

Hurried footsteps rapidly tapped against the marbled floors. Agent Thomas heard the doors behind him swing open. He could tell by the sound of the shoes as it rapidly struck against the floor and the soft thud of the doors that swung open too quickly, that it was a lower level staffer who had urgent news.

"Yes," he said impatiently without turning around. His attention was on the blueprints that were laid out on the large wooden oval desk. It was one of many papers and files in the mist of the organized clutter. Thomas' mind had to have order, so even though there was files, folders and pictures everywhere, he could close his eyes and put his hand instantly on whatever was needed.

Thomas inserted his hands into his suit trouser pockets. He closed his eyes for a moment as he breathed away the frustration. He could hear her breathing as she waited for him to acknowledge her with his full attention. He turned around.

"Sir," she said wide-eyed and somewhat breathless.

"What is it?" He now took more interest as he observed the expression on her face.

"The scans that you requested. The results are back."

He took it from her without losing eye contact. "What did you find?"

* * *

Mycroft had Anthea coming in and out to conduct business. It seemed that the government had to continue despite Mycroft Holmes grief.

He was sitting cross-legged on the chair by his bed with a laptop on the table when John entered the room. John had not even had time to take off his jacket when he observed Thomas and Anthea walking in hurriedly.

He looked from Anthea face then to Thomas. His eyes stayed on Thomas.

"Quickly and succinctly what did you find Thomas?"

"Sir, we found something. The ultrasound detected it under the debris; it will take another twelve hours to reach the area. It appears to be an intact room or a space. We are not sure yet. The blueprints does not support that any such space should exist."

Mycroft looked away and thought for a moment.

"Anthea, if you'd be so kind as to get my spare suit from the office. Tell the doctor that he will need to discharge me in the next two hours."

Anthea frowned but simply said, "Yes Sir." She quickly walked away as her hands danced across the screen. Mycroft eyes met John's and he said then. "Thomas if you could bring the car around and then met me back here."

Thomas looked from Doctor Watson to his boss, back to Doctor Watson before saying. "Yes sir." He quickly disappeared through the door. He glanced briefly at both men as he closed the door.

There was a moment of tense silence. Mycroft broke it.

"John, are we about to have our second argument, or is it third?" He smirked.

John stood with his arms crossed. "You need to stay for, at the minimum, another day or two."

"John, they were about to discharge me today."

"That was before the incident where you nearly fainted and you know it. Your blood pressure is up. You're still nauseated, you hardly eat or drink and you have a mild concussion Mycroft."

"I'll be careful. Besides, my blood pressure is always up. I work for the government and Sherlock is my brother."

John started to smile. "You're the Ice Man; your blood pressure is** never** up. You in fact, make other people's blood pressure go up, with the exception of Sherlock, of course. On that one, you have my sympathies."

Mycroft sighed as he stared at John. He raised an eyebrow then asked, "John is there some reason that that ridiculous smile is on your face?"

"You said is." Mycroft raised his left eyebrow to join the right in question. "You said Sherlock is your brother not was your brother." After a brief pause, "Daring to hope are we?"

After a brief silence, "Perhaps."

Mycroft stared at John for a moment. "Well, are you going to stand there with your arms folded or are you going to help me?"

"Oh… Sorry." John moved over to help Mycroft up as he opened his overnight bag and carried requested items into the bathroom. The luxurious room was obviously for very important patients.

"Mycroft, I'm going with you," John said as a matter of fact. He was fully prepared for an argument.

"I suppose it would be easier than answering your frequent and excruciatingly annoying calls on the hour."

"I was planning for every half an hour actually. You see Mycroft; we have gotten to know each other quite well."


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock story

Forgotten Memories, Introduction Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you ; **ShiverandShamy, Puky2012, Prothoe, christistina, briongloid fiodoir, socalrose, Voldemort101, and hjohn302 **for your review of chapter 4, and 5. Thank you **waterbaby84, Burning Phoenix, Jenna Yemowa, Peacefreakx3, eohippus, Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. Cyber hugs to all! ****

**Author's note:** Thank you to the **495** readers of this story so far. **Thank you** for your support, you mean more than you know! Do not forget to leave a comment or review. :)

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

****A special thank** you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. **It is encouraging as well as helpful.**

Enjoy.

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

_**"If you want to win a race, you have to go a little berserk."**_~ Unknown

* * *

**Eleven Hours Later**

_**Current Day**_

The volume in the room was loud. John sat in his seat in one of the corners, taking it all in. He kept an eye on Mycroft.

John glanced at the elder Holmes. If it was not for the wound dressing on the left side of his head and the dark circles under his eyes, no one could tell that anything eventful had occurred. Mycroft, despite the unusual need to sit down, was working hard.

Anthea was going in and out of the room. Thomas was off in his own corner with several agents moving in and out on computers, reading maps and reports surrounding him.

John returned his attention to Mycroft. He was looking more fatigued now. John sighed. He did not think that it would do him any good to tell him to take a break so he did not. Both of the Holmes brothers were stubborn. John knew that he had to pick his battles. John only interfered at increments to discreetly remind Mycroft to eat or to drink lots of fluids. Mycroft, although irritated, complied quickly and returned to work. He was like his brother in that respect John noted. They both had to have their minds engaged in something to feel comfortable.

John turned to the corner of the room where Thomas was and frowned. An agent just walked through the door and whatever she said caused several agents to run out of the room. John stiffened. He frowned, stood, and then walked over to Mycroft. He met Thomas who was also walking over to his boss.

"Yes, what did you find?" Mycroft said simply with his classic expressionless face. No one seemed to notice what John did, he was gripping his umbrella too tightly.

"Sir, It's not what we found, it's what we did not find. The tracking for Mr. Holmes is no longer active." John looked at Mycroft to gauge his reaction so that he could determine if this was good or bad news. The only change was that Mycroft's mouth was pulled into a grim line.

"Why is this news? We would expect his signal to be loss at the time of the explosion."

"That's the thing Sir, call it a hunch, but I asked for the exact time it was deactivated. It was manually deactivated forty-two minutes **after** the explosion. We are near to removing enough rubble to see if he was trapped under the structure in the intact space that our scans revealed."

John heard nothing else, his ears buzzed and he dry wiped his eyes. Deactivated forty-two minutes after the explosion. How could a dead man deactivate something? Even if he could, why would he want to deactivate something that would bring his rescuers to him? It made no sense. John wondered if he was trapped and hurt, maybe even dying, in that space under the building, Did Sherlock somehow find the room only to outlive the blast then die alone, in the dark, underground.

John was one part hope and one part terror. They warred against each other in equal measure.

John swallowed back the urge to vomit; this was no time to fall apart.

Someone ran in the room. "Sir, we've broken through. It's a room. It looks like a bomb shelter."

The next words were quickly spoken. "Sir, we found something."

* * *

"_**There are accents in the eye which are not on the tongue, and more tales come from pale lips than can enter an ear. It is both the grandeur and the pain of the remoter moods that they avoid the pathway of sound."**_ ~Thomas Hardy

* * *

**72 Hours Earlier**

The world slowed to a crawl, muffled voices floated in and out - as time stopped then started with jerky disjointed lines.

Sudden and sharp pain increased until it engulfed and dominated.

Someone weakly moaned.

Disjointed faces floated on the edge of vision.

A sudden prick was felt in a disjointed appendage.

Muffled voices floated and increased in volume and urgency.

Pungent and overwhelming smells.

Broken up words with no meaning. "Urgent"… "Hold him still"… "Hurry"… "Blood"… "Losing him"…

The distant sound of cloth being ripped.

Darkness.

Nothing.

Shooting sudden electrical pain in the chest.

Nothing.

More shooting electrical pain in the chest.

Muscles contracting painfully.

Shades of gray.

Someone weakly moaned again.

Soft sounds gently floated in.

Light danced in a rhythm across closed eyelids.

Pain.

Pain.

**Pain.**

A slight burning sensation then warmth flooded pushing back all pain.

More meaningless words. "Breathing"… "More stable"… "Transport."

A comfortable gray wrapped its arms around him and then…

… He heard nothing.

* * *

A/N: I hope that you enjoyed so far. Let me know your thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock story

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** **Thank you** briongloid fiodoir, Prothoe, eohippus, ShiverandShamy, danishprince, hjohn302, Puky2012, socalrose, Voldemort101, and Jenna Yemowa for your latest reviews and PMs. Thank you christistina , Voldemort101, waterbaby, 84, Burning Phoenix, Jenna Yemowa, Peacefreakx3, and Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. I appreciate you! **

I answer each review, comment, and PM personally. There are three people that I have not answered. Your Private Message (PM) will not receive messages or your access is off-site. Know that even though I cannot communicate it , you are appreciated. :)

**Author's note:** Thank you to the **735** readers of this story so far. **Thank you** for your support, It is encouraging. A _**special **_**thank you** to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. **It is encouraging as well as helpful.**

Someone made a story request. Those of you who know me, know that as long as it will not interfere with the integrity of the story, I am happy to fulfill the request. You know who you are, look for it in the next few weeks. :)

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

Things you may need to know 1. **Plaster** is the same as bandage or, wound dressing2. **Holiday **can be interchanged with vacation 3. **Throw a wobbly** is to lose one's temper. 4. A car's** boot** is a car's trunk.

**Here we go!

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**All human wisdom is summed up in two words - wait and hope."**_ ~ Alexander Dumas

* * *

_**Current Day**_

John looked from the pile of rubble that had once been a building to Mycroft.

Mycroft was leaning heavily against his umbrella yet insisted on coming personally to the site. Thomas was close and talking to people who appeared to be construction workers and engineers. He looked in their direction, said a few more words, and then jogged back.

Mycroft patiently waited for him to come close. "Sir, the room is empty and mostly intact but there is more. A double re-enforced door leads to a tunnel. Some men have explored it. It is mostly undamaged with a small amount of rubble closest to the blast site. It appears to lead to the outside. A man in a suit is dead in the tunnel. A random piece of heavy debris fell on him and broke his neck killing him instantly. They cleared it moments ago and they are following it to see how many kilometers it is, and to see where it exits."

Thomas mobile rang.

"Sorry Sir," A conversation took place. John tried to interpret what was being said on both ends. He found himself growing more impatient with each passing second.

"They have not reached the end yet, but they found something. They are bringing the items here. They should be here soon."

Thomas took a moment to look at both men and to gauge them before continuing. "There was some blood. It's being sent out for priority DNA analysis. The blood seems to not have come from the dead body. There were no traces of blood on it or open wounds. We are trying to make an identification now of both the blood's origin and the man's identity. No additional bodies were found."

Mycroft looked toward the rubble before saying quietly. "They won't find him." Mycroft looked at Thomas. John noticed a spark in his eyes that he had not seen since the bombing.

Anthea exited a car and walked up to Mycroft. She had been off doing some errands that Mycroft requested.

She stood by Thomas. Mycroft looked at them both and then at John and made a deduction. Let's see if I am correct, he thought to himself.

He looked at Anthea and spoke. "I need a schedule of all private transport exiting the country starting seventy-eight hours ago. I need to know the movements of any criminal group that is under priority one and three surveillance. Prioritize that list to any group that My brother have, shall we say, aggravated in the last year. Of course that's probably most of that list." Mycroft hesitated as he looked toward the ruins briefly. "I need protocol twenty-nine to be reactivated."

Mycroft swayed slightly. He closed his eyes as he breathed in and out a few times ignoring the concerned looks as he thought. He felt more stable now. He opened his eyes. It was becoming more difficult to ignore something to his immediate left. He momentarily resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

Mycroft could almost feel John's glare. It was equally amusing as it was annoying.

John cleared his throat looking pointedly at Mycroft with arms folded.

Mycroft looked John in the face deducing. Mycroft then gave into the temptation and rolled his eyes before saying, "And would someone be so kind as to bring me a chair before the dear doctor here throws a wobbly."

"Sir... everything that you've requested is already done. The reports on the private transport should be transferred within the hour. Everything else that you requested will be transferred to me in one to two hours, and…" Anthea hesitated while looking away briefly before looking back. "A foldaway chair is in the car's boot. Doctor Watson insisted that I bring it, Sir."

Everyone waited for his reaction. But Mycroft only looked at them with a raised eyebrow. "I see."

I was correct, Mycroft mused to himself. He turned to see an agent bringing the chair up to him. He sighed. Not very dignified but it had to be done.

Agent Thomas looked both relieved and amused. Doctor Watson seemed to be the only one who could handle the Holmes brothers. He was also the only one that they allowed to handle them.

John looked at Mycroft. "Lestrade," he said. Mycroft nodded absently. His mind already on the next task.

John picked up his phone and walked slightly away. John's low voice was heard as he spoke to someone on the other phone line.

The small group's attention was turned towards an agent, who ran toward them with some items in his hands.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock story

**Forgotten Memories,** Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** **Thank you** briongloid fiodoir, Prothoe, eohippus, ShiverandShamy, danishprince, hjohn302, Puky2012, socalrose, Voldemort101, and Jenna Yemowa for your latest reviews and PMs. Thank you christistina , Voldemort101, waterbaby, 84, Burning Phoenix, Jenna Yemowa, Peacefreakx3, and Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. I appreciate you! ** **Edited:** Welcome Trevor.

I answer each review, comment, and PM personally. There are three people that I have not answered. Your Private Message (PM) will not receive messages or your access is off-site. Know that even though I cannot communicate it , you are appreciated. :)

**Author's note:** Thank you to the **735** readers of this story so far. **Thank you** for your support, It is encouraging. A _**special **_**thank you** to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. **It is encouraging as well as helpful.**

Someone made a story request. Those of you who know me, know that as long as it will not interfere with the integrity of the story, I am happy to fulfill the request. You know who you are, look for it in the next few weeks. :)

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

Things you may need to know 1. **Plaster** is the same as bandage or, wound dressing2. **Holiday **can be interchanged with vacation 3. **Throw a wobbly** is to lose one's temper. 4. A car's **boot** is a car's trunk.

**Here we go!

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is **_

_**live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof." ~ **_Barbara

Kingsolver- novelist

* * *

_**Current Day**_

Lestrade hung up the phone with shaking hands. He looked over the small space as he rose from his chair slowly. His coffee and half eaten food was forgotten. He stayed like that, his body frozen as his mind raced.

His eyes traveled around the room now but still he said nothing, saw nothing, still lost in his thoughts.

A slow smile spread across his face. "Son of a …" His words were interrupted as he hastily looked toward his bedroom. "Time to cut my holiday short," he thought out loud.

Lestrade frowned as he seemed to notice his appearance for the first time in days. He moved quickly toward the shower.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

John saw the agent approach the group and quickly ended his call. He jogged over to them with his phone forgotten in his hand.

John took the items out of the agent's hands without asking. No one stopped him.

"It's Sherlock's suit jacket. It's the one he wore that night…" John had to take a moment to get his emotions under control. "I'm sure of it Mycroft," he said now looking at Mycroft.

The agent also had the disassembled shoes of Sherlock. Someone had taken the time to take the heel apart and to take out the transmitter. Mycroft's eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked over the items.

"He was taken." John said needlessly.

"Yes, John," Mycroft answered just as needlessly.

"Why would someone take his shoes apart?" John wondered aloud.

"To examine the device. By that examination they would be able to make a determination of what kind of possible other devices we were capable of concealing on Sherlock. They probably removed his clothing if they have any sense what- so- ever." Mycroft commented absently while thinking.

"I know that you probably put something in his coat but he did not have his coat on the day of the explosion Mycroft."

"It wasn't in his coat John."

John frowned and decided that he did not **want** to know where Mycroft had put the other tracker. He knew that Sherlock would not have been happy to find out about the level of surveillance that his brother still maintained on him.

He also decided that if it helped to get his flatmate back, that he would personally kiss Mycroft for it. The shock on Mycroft's face because of such an act, would make his own personal trauma worth it.

Another agent ran up to Thomas. Thomas a minute later ran back to Mycroft and gave a report. "Mr. Holmes, a bloody plaster was found on the floor at the exit of the tunnel."

He now sat in the chair that had materialized behind him minutes ago. "They want him alive," he said to no one in particular. He could not afford to waste his energy. He had to plan. He understood clearly now that it was a game of chess. He also understood that the first move had already been made.

Mycroft Holmes took a deep breath and then became as still as a rock. He seemed to focus off in the distance. John had observed this twice before. He was entering his mind like Sherlock would do. Unlike Sherlock, who although it was unnecessary, preferred to close his eyes and had to subtly move his fingers; Mycroft was as still as a rock and his breathing slowed. He would also blink heavily at increments and when entering and exiting his mind.

John vaguely wondered something. If Sherlock's method of mind mapping involved a mind palace as his icon, what was Mycroft's icon, an entire country built in that incredible mind of his?

Mycroft suddenly blinked rapidly and looked around. He frowned. John swallowed hard. Whatever Mycroft had just figured out caused him to not be a happy person. Before John could question him, their attention was diverted.

He suddenly received a text.

**Ping* **_Where is Mr. Holmes –IA_

Mycroft thought for a moment. Making a decision his hands typed across the screen of his mobile. He hit send.

_I am working on the answer__**. **_*** Send**

A moment of waiting

**Ping***_I will contact __you_ soon.

Mycroft looked for a moment toward the phone in his hand frowning, and then he looked toward John.

"John, we have to talk."

He glanced at everyone around them. They all scattered a good distant away. Thomas returned to the site and started questioning a lower level agent against what was once the doorway to the building.

"John, I need to know everything that had occurred in my brother's life within the last year. Especially the things that he doesn't want me to know about."

"You both have a good relationship now. I would think that you know all of the important things. The things that he chose not to tell you… you know that I can't betray his confidence."

"Even if it means his life?"

John frowned at that.

"He was injured John. We don't yet know who took him, where they took him, why they took him, or what their intentions are."

John looked away toward the rubble for a moment. His mind and heart wrestled against each other. A decision was made. He looked at Mycroft warily. "What do you need to know?"

He looked at his phone then back to John, "Everything John, and I do mean… everything."

* * *

A/N: Let me know your thoughts and thanks for reviewing. One more chapter will be up in 24 hours or less.

LoL (Lots of Love)


	11. Chapter 11

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 11

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** **Thank you;** drpaz, Warm-Glow, hjohn302, Puky2012, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, eohippus for your latest reviews and PMs. Thank you b briongloid fiodoir, Prothoe, , danishprince, hjohn302, Puky2012, socalrose, Voldemort101, and Jenna Yemowa, christistina , Voldemort101, waterbaby, 84, Burning Phoenix, Peacefreakx3, and Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. I appreciate you! **

*Thank you for your kind words and Private Messaging (PM) me to point out Typos this week. Those of you who communicate with me regularly know that I am **BIG** into respecting people's privacy, so I will not mention who you are unless you give me permission. The choice is yours of course; just know that I appreciate you. **Greatly**.

I answer each review, comment, and PM personally. I have not answered two people. Your Private Message (PM) will not receive messages or your access is off-site. Know that even though I cannot communicate it, you are appreciated. To the one that enable the PM, thanks. You know who you are. :)

**Author's note:** Thank you to the **880** readers of this story so far. **Thank you** for your support, it is encouraging. A _**special **_**thank you** to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. **It is encouraging as well as helpful.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

**On with the show!**

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**I was a born troublemaker and might as well earn a living at it**_." ~ Bill Mauldin

* * *

He looked at the sleeping form in the bed. He sat in his chair in the dark with only the fireplace to serve as a light. He smiled as he twirled the red colored liquid in the crystal glass. Red, it was his favorite color. He suppressed a giggle he felt that wanted to bubble up.

He looked over the sleeping figure. He had on a pajama bottom but was shirtless. He leaned back and looked. "Completely helpless," he whispered. He smiled and took another sip of the liquid. The man in the bed had stopped the annoying moaning and mumbling half an hour ago.

He smiled.

Well maybe the moaning was not quite as annoying as he pretended it to be.

The poor dear was calling for someone. He allowed a small giggle to escape now but stopped it from getting too loud. The man who was sleeping had a difficult past few days. The man in the chair turned his head to the side. He thought to himself. He has never seen the man in the bed so helpless. He was always ridiculously strong, brave…, and noble. He rolled his eyes as he now crossed his legs. He almost choked on the thought of being noble.

He looked toward the bed and heard a low moaning as the man in bed tried to turn his body. Of course, he would not be able to move, he had made sure of that. The man in the chair watched. He could do anything that he wanted to the man in the bed, he thought to himself. Who would stop him? He smiled. He was definitely not bored now.

Choices, choices, he thought to himself as one crossed leg bounced against the other leg. A thought occurred to him. His smile widened. He leaned forward for a short time studying the man.

He sat back now as his face mingled with the darkness, almost becoming one with it. The only contrast was his incredibly white teeth and eyes. He looked almost reptilian.

The man in the bed was starting to increase his movements. He was mumbling again but the man in the chair could not make out what he was saying. It was almost as if he was trying to fight in his weakened state.

Interesting.

He smoothly got up and by habit buttoned his suit jacket without thinking. He came close to the bed and gave a curious look. There it was again, but what was said. He bent down low so that his left ear was almost touching the man's mouth.

"John." Muttered weakly.

He smiled as a small chuckle escaped his lips. He was calling for his pet, how adorable. "No one can help you sexy," he whispered in all seriousness.

"Sleep now, rest, and get better. You'll need your strength," the man said almost gently.

All traces of a smile left now. He stood up but did not move immediately away. The white of his eyes stood out. It almost seemed to glow. He lingered by the bed as he thought.

Choices.

The man stood over the man in the bed, watching.

In silence.

* * *

Late that night, the man who was referred to as the British Government took up a phone and dialed a number that he memorized.

As it rang only once, a breathless voice picked up the line. There were sounds of struggling on the mobile phone line. The sounds of struggling stopped abruptly after a soft thud sound was heard. He waited patiently.

"Mr. Holmes," the voice said nonchalantly.

"You may finish what you're… doing." Mycroft informed the voice casually as he examined a report that was in his free hand.

"Thank you Sir."

Mycroft listened as instructions were given to take the apparently unconscious suspect away.

"Finished Mycroft," the voice informed.

He allowed very few people on earth to call him by his first name. Even dignitaries of other country referred to him as, the _British Government _or _Mr. Holmes_.

"I need to activate you. I have a mission. Delicacy and discretion are required." Mycroft paused briefly, "Priority twenty-nine."

* * *

**A/N:** I did not want to wait; I thought that this version fit well with what was posted yesterday.

I rewrote this. (You know me and rewrites, I think it is a sickness. :)

One version was too mild almost fluffy. They may have had tea and crumpets together. One was entirely too graphic. Do not ask; I was in a mood I guess. I hope this one fits. Tell me your thoughts.

**LoL**


	12. Chapter 12

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 12

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** **Thank you;** drpaz, Warm-Glow, hjohn302, Puky2012, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, eohippus for your latest reviews and PMs. Thank you b briongloid fiodoir, Prothoe, , danishprince, hjohn302, Puky2012, socalrose, Voldemort101, and Jenna Yemowa, christistina , Voldemort101, waterbaby, 84, Burning Phoenix, Peacefreakx3, and Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. I appreciate you! **

I answer each review, comment, and PM personally. I have not answered two people. Your Private Message (PM) will not receive messages or your access is off-site. Know that even though I cannot communicate it, you are appreciated. To the one that enable the PM, thanks. You know who you are. :)

**Author's note:** Thank you to the **1,100** visitors of this story so far. **Thank you** for your support, it is encouraging. A _**special **_**thank you** to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. **It is encouraging as well as helpful.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

**Let us begin!**

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

_**"Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest meaning provides steel to our bones**__.__**" ~ **_Grace Freeman

* * *

A man moved in a dark mahogany poster bed. The four high columns reached upwards toward the ceiling. His body fought to return to the waking world.

The first thing He noticed was the sound of someone moaning quietly. He did not realize that the sounds were coming from himself. His eyes flickered open as the pull of darkness and the pull of light fought a war within his body with equal vigor.

His ears caught the sound of a rhythmic ticking. He held on to that sound and allowed it to pull him forward into consciousness_. _Where was the sound coming from his waking mind wandered.

He finally felt alert enough to open his eyes.

The room went into a spin as the sudden assault of light and images caused a sharp flash of pain in his head. He steeled himself, took a deep breath and tried to open his eyes more slowly. This time he progressed slower, first one eye then the other. His eyes finally opened in slits. The room did not tilt or spin this time.

After a few minutes, his eyes adjusted and he was able to look around without squinting. He tried to swallow what felt like cotton in his mouth. He licked his dry lips but that only reminded him of the intense thirst that he felt.

He tried to get up but could not. His head moved but he could not bring his body to move. He frowned confused. He blinked several times as he tried to clear his mind and think. When he tried to think about anything more basic than his immediate surroundings; a flash of pain shot through his head causing him to groan.

Why was it so difficult to think, he wondered? He looked at himself and frowned. He had no shirt on. He had on pajama pants only. He tried to move his legs but could not.

One leg, his left was heavily bandaged from upper thigh to just above the knee. He could feel the pull of the stitches. There were two. The dressing was a pressure dressing. They were trying to keep him from bleeding.

His leg had minimal pain so he had been given something for the pain. The bend of one arm had a dull ache, as if a needle had been in there. His chest felt tender, as if someone had been beating on it. His body felt sore and heavy as if it weighed more than he could lift. He squinted as he felt the building headache.

He looked shakily around the room. He was in a comfortable bed. It was expensive. The room was laid with mahogany hardwood floors. There were just a few pieces of matching mahogany wooden furniture. All oversized pieces and custom made.

He closed his eyes briefly as he lay on the feather soft pillows. The slight mental exercise had drained him.

He opened his eyes slowly again as he stared straight up at the high vaulted ceilings.

He looked to his left and saw the foliage and greenery through the oversized windows that lined the room. He was somewhere remote then. He was in a mansion not a house. Wherever he was, the owner had money, lots of it judging by the décor of the room and the room itself.

A flash of pain shot through his head again. He hissed from the pain as he closed his eyes tightly. He waited for the pain to dissipate.

He slowly opened his eyes again. His eyes traveled as it took in the clutter free room and its furnishings. His eyes stopped abruptly as he came to the second of two doors. There was a man he had never noticed standing by the door. The man by the door face was unreadable. At least every time he tried to read his face the pain in his head increased.

"Wat…water." He asked weakly.

The man at the door frowned. He looked at him cautiously almost as if he thought that he would be bitten by a snake if he got too close. After what appeared to be a moment of thought, the man slowly walked over to him.

The man in the bed collapsed. His energy was spent by the small activity. He heard water being poured to his left. A hand held up his head effortlessly as the other hand held a cup to his mouth. He tried to bring his other arm to reach up to help hold the cup, but it could not. His arms would not move. He drank greedily from the crystal cup and nodded when he was satisfied.

The pull of sleep was almost too much to resist. However, a sudden terror ran through his mind. He felt as if there was an important question that he should know the answer to. If only he could remember the question. Remembering the question would at least be a start. He felt his eyes roll now as his mind struggled to stay awake against his body that counter-struggled to rest and sleep.

He would try. He wet his lips again before asking. "Wh…who are you?"

The man who gave him water looked at him curiously. There was no need to answer. The man in the bed was asleep the moment he asked the question. He lowered his head and walked back over to the door as he took his position and guarded the man who was asleep. He pushed a button of the communication device that was in his ear for three seconds to activate it.

"Yes?" the voice on the other end said.

"Tell the boss that he's awake and asking questions."

"I'll let him know."

"Am I to do anything differently?" The guard asked.

"No." was the simple answer.

He clicked the button on his earpiece once. He stood by the door staring dispassionately at the man in the bed as he slept, unaware of his situation.


	13. Chapter 13

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 13

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** **Thank you;** eohippus, Nietzsches, Warm-Glow, Prothoe, Puky2012, hJohn302, for your latest reviews and PMs and for voicing your opinion on the chapter 11. Thank you drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy,briongloid fiodoir, , danishprince, socalrose , Jenna Yemowa, christistina , Voldemort101, waterbaby, 84, Burning Phoenix, Peacefreakx3, and Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. I think that you are all wonderful! **

I answer each review, comment, and PM personally. I have not answered two people. Your Private Message (PM) will not receive messages or your access is off-site. Know that even though I cannot communicate it, you are appreciated. To the one that enable the PM, thanks. You know who you are. :)

**Author's note:** Thank you to the **1,100** visitors of this story so far. **Thank you** for your support, it is encouraging. A _**special **_**thank you** to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. **It is encouraging as well as helpful.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

Things you should know. 1. Mac is the same as a laptop. 2. I try to use bathroom instead of loo. Loo can mean either the bathroom or just the toilet. I think it is more cross-cultural but if I ever use it, you will know what it means. 3. Portable storage device is also called a jump drive, or USB external hard drive. Anyone who knows any other term for it , just make suggestions.

**Let us begin!**

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

**"**_**Kites rise highest against the wind—not with it."~ Winston Churchill**_

* * *

"What did he tell you John?"

Mycroft sat in the chair waiting patiently for John to speak.

"As you know, almost a year ago Sherlock was investigating the three terrorist threats that were linked to the bombing of Air France flight 1270."

John looked beyond Mycroft thinking.

"We know that Sherlock said that there was a fourth player involved, someone more powerful than the rest who seemed to be pulling the strings. However, he could not identify who that player was. He could not identify that fourth link."

Mycroft tensed as he prepared himself for what he knew was coming.

John frowned as he looked at Mycroft. "He couldn't let it go. He went to Russia and Germany a few times in search of answers. He knew that three men were involved. The first was Nidal Ayyad who kidnapped Sherlock and sent the man though pure hell. He however is dead now and no longer a threat. The second was Ahmed Ajaj but you already have him in custody so he is no longer a threat. That left Joseph Turkin. Sherlock was not concerned with him. He was concerned with the fourth player, the unknown man."

John's frown as he spoke. "Two weeks ago he found the fourth link. It was tied to a name," John's frown deepened, "The name was Josiah Lambert."

Mycroft saw red. He rose from his chair. All thoughts of being cooperative and taking it easy suddenly left. He hissed in John's ear as he invaded his personal space. "Josiah Lambert? Josiah Lambert as in Jim Moriarty birth name."

Mycroft took a second to gain his composure. "I'm curious John, when did you think this little piece of information would become important enough to, I don't know, say something perhaps!"

"Take it easy Mycroft, you need to sit down." John tried to reason.

"Don't tell me to sit down you've lost that right!" Mycroft glared at him dangerously.

John frowned but said nothing. He expected such a reaction. John closed his eyes and sighed then opened them.

"I know that you're upset with me Mycroft," John said gently, "But we need that incredible mind of yours to find him. It would set us back if you received a concussion because you've fainted." John attempted a small smile.

"Don't try to get in my good graces by that little speech of yours. You're trying to play on my considerable pride. It won't work. Sherlock tried the same thing many times and failed by the way. I guarantee you that he's a **lot more clever** than you or anyone that you'll ever know."

A moment passed.

"Of course, he's also a **lot more trouble** too," He said sighing as he felt the tug of a real smile on his lips.

"I need you to confirm some things for me, John."

"It depends on what you need for me to confirm Mycroft." John said cautiously with folded arms.

A part of Mycroft smiled at John's loyalty to his brother. Another part of him wanted to shake some sense into the man. He sighed. He had definitely been around Sherlock for too long. He was almost as stubborn now. Mycroft smiled to himself and took it as a challenge.

"Sherlock did not tell me because he thought, correctly I might add, that I would stop him from investigating."

John thought for a moment. It could not hurt to confirm. "Yes," he said carefully.

"He investigated in the last two months this fourth terrorist tie. The invisible player that seemed to be manipulating the other three players. He traveled to…"

Mycroft took out a notebook. It was not necessary of course, he could simply go in his mind for the information. He however found that pulling out a notebook, and reading from it, was more intimidating.

"Let's see. He traveled to Germany twice." Mycroft turned a page, "Russia four, no five times. Three times with you, twice alone."

He turned to another page and raised an eyebrow as he glance at John briefly. "Hum. He also spent quite a bit of time in Vienna. He was there to do what John, investigate the fourth link? He seemed to somehow become invisible. He slipped pass all my, shall we say, protection. This person, this fourth link, Sherlock believed him to be more powerful that even Ayyad, it that correct?"

John paused and answered more slowly this time. "That's accurate."

Mycroft nodded and changed the subject.

"Sherlock had been through so much lately, I know that he was contemplating letting people selectively into his life." Mycroft paused to look in his eyes.

"Tell me John, why was my brother spending so much time in Russia?"

John shifted slightly, he was looking uncomfortable now. "He was gathering information Mycroft."

Mycroft smirked now, "When he was **gathering** his information. Did he gather it from a…," He looked in his book again needlessly, "Ms. Irene Adler?"

Mycroft held up his hand to John, "And before you say anything, yes John, I have known for quite a while that she was alive. Sherlock was even negotiating with me to forgive all. She however did not know that I knew. She took a risk and revealed herself to me today. So as you can understand I need to know her motivation."

Mycroft stopped looking at the book, he had made his point. "The question John is, was it concern or manipulation?"

John said nothing.

Mycroft continued to look at him then smirked as he shrugged casually. "Of course there could never be anything between them. We both know my brother." He looked at John who seemed to be angry at the way that he was teasing Sherlock.

"Dear Lord, Can you imagine Sherlock and Adler; he would not know what to do with himself without instructions. Pictures would probably be helpful. Perhaps even an instructional video. Of course, he would probably over think and over analyze any written instructions. You would probably have to draw him a map for him to figure out what to do." He smirked evenly.

John lips twitched and his eyes flashed with anger but he said nothing.

"Even with a map, he would be helpless…"

John gestured wildly as he spoke, "I think that Sherlock is fully capable of figuring out what to do, he is **not **an imbecile…" John stopped speaking and paled.

Mycroft looked him up and down, "Thank you John."

"That was not fair." John became more enraged as he conversed.

"What the hell was that about Mycroft?" John stopped suddenly as he looked at Mycroft's face.

"I had to see if I could trust her, John." He said quietly.

Mycroft's eyes were closed. He wiped away an embarrassing tear but another one rebelled and ran freely down his cheek.

"John, do you have any idea how much danger Sherlock is in? If this has anything to do with Moriarty and Sherlock certainly seemed to think so, then…" Mycroft took a breath unable or unwilling to finish his thought.

"John, Sherlock was responsible for destroying this criminal's empire. If only there was some way… If only I knew what he was working on. I need specifics." Mycroft ran a shaky hand through his hair nervously. It seemed surreal to have Mycroft's normally perfectly maintained hair disturbed.

John swallowed hard and frowned. All anger was suddenly evaporated. Concern took its place.

Mycroft suddenly looked at John. "Did Sherlock keep his files anywhere. Perhaps on his computer."

"With everything that happened, I guess that I never thought about it. I normally wouldn't do this, but maybe if you told me what you're looking for I could try to get the information off of his computer."

"I know that he was planning to tell you in a few weeks. He discovered something… surprising he said. But, he had to be sure. Whatever it was caused him to pale." John thought for a moment, "He usually uses portable storage drives."

Mycroft nodded as he took out his phone. All traces of confusion and anxiety were wiped from his face. His normally stoic face returned. He smoothed his hair with his hands and sat up straight as he crossed his legs. His fingers flew across the touch screen of his phone. His tear was casually wiped from his eye.

John stood still as he tried to decide what had just happened between himself and Mycroft.

Did he just become a victim of classic Holmes brothers' manipulation?

He cursed quietly as realization came to him. The sound of a car door slamming was heard. DI Lestrade walked toward the two men.

John crossed his arms and pursed his lips together as he held his chin up. He stared wordlessly at Mycroft.

Mycroft noticed as he rolled his eyes. "Come John. You've lived with my brother for quite a while now. I am sure that Sherlock has manipulated you emotionally a time or two."

John opened his mouth to argue but closed it when he realized with irritation the truth of Mycroft's words.

"Oh, Lestrade's here. I'll have them prepare some food."

Mycroft paused briefly before speaking, "Anthea, have them bring the car around."

He looked at John and asked casually."Tea and sandwiches, John?"

John was still annoyed as he watched Lestrade advance. He sighed as he shook his head surrendering, "And soup Mycroft," he said finally.

Mycroft disconnected the first call then made a second call.

"Look for a Mac and a storage drive… (Pause) … My brother has a talent for hiding thing so be thorough." Mycroft casually disconnected the call. John pursed his lips together but did not ask how they planned to enter his flat without a key.

Lestrade finally reached the two men and looked from one man to the other.

Lestrade looked questioningly. "Did I miss something?" He asked them both.

Both men looked at him wordlessly.

* * *

*References made for Deleted Memories; Introduction, chapter 33-35, and chapter 44.


	14. Chapter 14

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 14

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** **Thank you;** eohippus, Nietzsches, Warm-Glow, Prothoe, Puky2012, hJohn302, for your latest reviews and PMs and for voicing your opinion on the chapter 11. Thank you drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy,briongloid fiodoir, , danishprince, socalrose , Jenna Yemowa, christistina , Voldemort101, waterbaby, 84, Burning Phoenix, Peacefreakx3, and Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. I think that you are all wonderful! **

I answer each review, comment, and PM personally. I have not answered two people. Your Private Message (PM) will not receive messages or your access is off-site. Know that even though I cannot communicate it, you are appreciated. To the one that enable the PM, thanks. You know who you are. :)

**Author's note:** Thank you to the **1,100** visitors of this story so far. **Thank you** for your support, it is encouraging. A _**special **_**thank you** to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. **It is encouraging as well as helpful.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

Things you should know. 1. Mac is the same as a laptop. 2. I try to use bathroom instead of loo. Loo can mean either the bathroom or just the toilet. I think it is more cross-cultural but if I ever use it, you will know what it means. 3. Portable storage device is also called a jump drive or or USB external hard drive. Anyone who knows any other term for it , just make suggestions.

**Let us begin!**

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

_**Memory is not so brilliant as hope, but it is more beautiful, and a thousand times more true.~ **_George Denison Prentice

* * *

The man in the mahogany bed moved his head back and forth as he woke again. He opened his eyes slowly and moved his body. More accurately, he tried to move his body but could not. As before he could move his head but he could not move his extremities. His thoughts were still hazy. He attempted to blink away the haze.

The guard was still there and another guard had joined him. He was about to inform the guard of his need to use the bathroom when his attention was diverted to the foot of his bed. His eyes came to stop on a man who sat in a chair, at the end of his bed in an expensive suit.

He tried to get his eyes time to focus.

The man in the chair stood up and walked over to his bed. He stood above him and said nothing. He neither smiled nor frowned. His face was expressionless.

Pain shot through his head and he closed his eyes for a split second.

After a moment he opened his eyes again. He tried to speak but his mouth was dry and he instead coughed. The man by his bed barely nodded and the same guard who assisted him earlier, walked over to him, picked up his head as before, and helped him to drink water.

Once satisfied, he laid his head back down and looked intently at the man above his bed. Neither spoke as they locked eyes.

As Moriarty looked down on the only man that he had ever considered his intellectual equal, he remained expressionless. The Master Criminal considered it a silent battle of willpower.

Holmes looked at Moriarty with curiosity. However, something else was there. It was fear, at least a trace of fear. More curious was the fact that the fear did not seem to be caused by Moriarty's presence. He had never known Holmes to show fear, not even when he was in the same room with a bomb.

More curious still, he thought.

Holmes looked away briefly as if he was trying to decide something.

He locked eyes with Moriarty then spoke. "I have two questions." He said with a weak but steady voice.

Moriarty wondered what the Consultant Detective was trying to accomplish. He would play along. The game was everything. He was not bored and that was all that mattered.

The game.

He resisted the urge he felt to smile.

"And those two questions would be?" Moriarty asked just as casually.

That's when Moriarty saw it. It was just a flash of emotion but it was there. Holmes quickly covered it up. But, Moriarty was sure that he had seen panic. It was unexpected coming from Holmes. Moriarty was careful to keep his face neutral.

"Those two questions would be?" Moriarty asked again cautiously.

Holmes looked at him, glance away briefly then back again.

"If it's not too much trouble, care to tell me who you are?" Holmes asked. Before Moriarty could wonder to himself what game the man was playing he spoke again.

"And if it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could also tell me," he hesitated slightly,

"… Who** I** am."

* * *

A/N: I hope that you enjoy. Comments are encouraging. :)

LoL


	15. Chapter 15

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 15

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** **Thank you**; briongloid fiodoir, bruderlein, hJohn302, socalrose , danishprince, eohippus, Prothoe, Puky2012, Voldemort101, and Jenna Yemowa, for you review and PMs of 12-14

Thank you Nietzsches, Warm-Glow, drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, Burning Phoenix, Peacefreakx3, and Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. You're awesome! **

If I have not answered your review, make sure that your Private Message (PM) is enabled. I always answer personally.

**Author's note:** Thank you to the **1,370** visitors of this story so far. **Thank you** for your support, it is encouraging. A _**special **_**thank you** to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. **It is encouraging as well as helpful.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

* Things you should know.

**Да** _means_ **Yes **

**Где** _means_ **Where**

**Когда **_means_ **When**

**До свидания** _means_ **Goodbye**

**Thanks **Voldemort101 for the suggestions that USB flash drive being added as another word for portable storage device

**Onward! **

Love and coffee.

Lots of coffee. **Lots and lots** **of coffee,** Zacha

* * *

"_**Character isn't something you were born with and can't change, like your fingerprints. It's something you weren't born **__**with and must take responsibility for forming**_." ~ _Jim Rohn_

* * *

**_Current Day_**

The woman walked back and forth edgily in front of the oversized windows that lined the beautiful room. Her hair was normally perfectly structured and swept up but not now. Now it flowed beyond her shoulders in loose curls. She wore it like this sometimes for at least a year now. One finger twirled her naturally wavy hair. It was a nervous habit that she once had as a child. She rarely displayed such a habit because she was a confident and strong woman. She was not the kind of personality to become nervous or easily agitated.

At least not normally, however, she was today.

She sighed with irritation as she glanced at her watch. She collapsed into her plush beige striped chair foregoing her usual elegant mannerisms. She looked at her dark designer pantsuit and brushed imagined lint from it. She sighed and pushed against gravity to stand up again.

She reached stretching and grabbed her mobile phone from off the close table as she walked gracefully through the exterior double french doors to her balcony. She caressed the silky curtains with her fingertips as she slowly walked by. She looked toward the close city. The balcony offered a magnificent view, especially at night when the lights of the distant city were seen. Soon Saint Petersburg would light up like a hundred fireflies scattered below.

She looked at her phone again as if she could will it to ring.

A cool breeze blew the sheer curtains that seemed to dance in the wind. Another stronger breeze blew and the tulips that were scattered around the room joined in the dance.

It was not the proper time of year to have the doors open but suddenly the room felt small and lacking in air, she was not sure why. She considered the small but elegant room a reflection of herself. It had always been a place of comfort and retreat. But, not today.

She never noticed that she tapped her heels on the balcony floor.

The mobile phone rang. She took a breath, as she carefully made sure that her tone was casual.

"Да?" She listened to the voice on the other end of the phone line.

"Где?" She walked quickly to the pen and paper that she had close by. Words were written down hastily.

She frowned as she listened further. "Когда?" She asked. She wrote some more words downed hurriedly.

She glanced at her watch as she listened. She nodded subconsciously despite the fact that the caller could not see her.

"До свидания." She held the mobile in her hand for a few seconds. She hesitated for only a moment. She feared no one on earth with two exceptions. Jim Moriarty and Mycroft Holmes and if her contact's information was correct, it seemed that her world now contained both.

There was nothing to be done. A life was in danger.

**A** life would not move her if she was honest. She had changed during the time that she had helped Sherlock bring down Moriarty's criminal web, but not completely. It was the fact that it was **his** life. She put on her mask and made her voice confident and strong. A text would not do.

Irene Adler pulled a throw blanket from the back of a chair without slowing her steps toward the french doors. She loosely wrapped it around her shoulders. She kicked off her high-heeled shoes ignoring them as they fell and walked bare feet onto the balcony. She shivered slightly. It must be the cold, she told herself.

She bit her reddened lips as she waited. The other line was answered in one ring.

"Mycroft dear, it's time we had a little talk…"


	16. Chapter 16

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 16

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

* * *

"_**The measure of a man's real character is what he would do if he knew he would never be found out." ~**__Thomas Babington Macaulay _

* * *

**_Current Day_**

"If it's not too much trouble, care to tell me who you are?" Holmes asked. Before Moriarty could wonder to himself what game the man was playing he spoke again.

"And if it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could also tell me," he hesitated slightly,

"… Who** I** am."

* * *

Moriarty had quickly turned his back instantly to the man on the bed. His mind was still whirling. The man's words reverberated in his mind. His shoulders shook up and down. To everyone in the room who looked at his back, it appeared as if he was soundlessly weeping and trying to gain control of himself.

The one man that was watching questioningly from his bed, did not know that he was trying to hold back shock and laughter, not tears.

Jim Moriarty was amused that those vulnerable words were spoken by a man that had caused him quite a bit of trouble and money. Of course he provided his only real amusement as well. Ordinary people became boring rather quickly.

Sherlock Holmes, completely at his mercy and with amnesia, how could it possibly get any better?

His smile that was hidden to all in the room became wider.

Oh, this was just too good.

Too rich.

Too delicious.

His mouth and eyes opened wide with excitement. He would have to rethink his plan. He did not plan to kill him exactly, he had learned his lesson. It was entirely too dull and boring without him. He was going to get him all better. Then torture him a little.

Torture was no fun if they were half dead already. Trial and error had taught him that.

Okay maybe he was going to torture him **more than a little**.

Okay-okay the truth is, he was going to make him **SCREAM**.

Too bad, Holmes was so much like him intellectually.

When Holmes was younger, when he had first taken notice of him, he walked the line between good and sociopath. Holmes was never quite a sociopath, Moriarty thought that he should know. But, he was so close.

If it was not for those annoying people in his life that encouraged him to do… good. Moriarty almost felt nauseated even thinking about the word, _good._

Good influences.

The worse one was Doctor Watson. If only they had met before Holmes met Doctor Wat…

His thoughts were interrupted by a scheme, a plan. His eyes widened again as his mouth curved into a smile. He had to make an effort not to snicker.

Change of game.

There is more than one-way to kill a man, he thought. There are more interesting ways to burn out a heart. And, he **would** BURN his heart out.

"Let the games begin," Moriarty whispered quietly to himself.

Now, to produce a tear, anymore and Holmes would become suspicious. He may be injured and weak but he was not a fool. The Master Criminal waited for the tear to reach halfway down his cheek before turning.

Moriarty turned around slowly as he stifled a sob.

Holmes was frowning and looking at him intently. Sherlock knew that he would not be able to stay awake much longer. Sherlock tried to open his eyes wider. He was blinking often as his eyelids became like weights. His eyes were heavy but he stubbornly held on to consciousness and tried to concentrate.

The Master Criminal walked up to the Consultant Detective as he slowly wiped away the lone tear. Moriarty cleared his throat. He put a comforting hand on his shoulders. Sherlock looked at the hand then up at Moriarty's face frowning.

"Don't worry. "I have to go away for a few days, business. We'll talk when I get back." Moriarty nodded and his guards came.

"Help him to the bathroom. Make sure that he is... comfortable."

The guards came over without question and started to untie him from the bedpost. Sherlock looked strangely at his hands. He blinked a few times as he tried to process this new bit of information. It only earned him a headache. He frowned. How could he have not realized that they were tied, he wondered. The headache came back instantly. His mind was still hazy. And he grimaced.

"I… I was tied." It was not a question. He looked suspiciously at Moriarty.

"Oh yes, you were delirious, we were afraid that you would hurt yourself. With your level of blood loss it might have been fatal." Moriarty said smoothly with just the right touch of concern as he watched his expression to see if his deception was convincing.

The guards pulled him to his feet but he was not able to support his body weight. He would have collapsed if not for the two men. Pain shot through his left leg when it hit the floor. His thoughts were violently pulled away from him by the pain and nausea, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. He hissed from the pain as he waited for the stars to clear from his vision and his breathing to even out.

"Carry him," he said between gritted teeth as he rolled his eyes. He almost threatened them but he stopped himself.

Remember the game, he told himself.

Sherlock glanced frowning at Moriarty as the guards took him to the adjoining bathroom. Something was off but whenever he tried to think of what it could be, to put the pieces together, his head would explode in pain. Maybe if he just slept, he would think better in the morning.

With one last look, he turned away from the man in the suit.

He felt the pull of sleep strongly and knew that he was losing the battle against it. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as he leaned more heavily with each step, between the two giant men.

"Sir," another man said quietly, "What do we do while you're gone?"

"Plan B. Say nothing until I get back, leave him untied but he's not to leave this room for any reason. Don't underestimate him."

"What if his memory comes back?"

Moriarty smiled. "Then back to plan A."


	17. Chapter 17

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 17

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

* * *

"_**Obstacles are great incentives."~**_Jules Michelet

* * *

**_Current Day_**

Forty-hours later, a lanky young man sighed as he glanced out the window. He thought to himself.

"Nature," he said bitterly with a mouth full of toast.

He looked out the window as he chewed. So much nature and clean air, he thought. It would be the death of him. He sighed. He was bored. There had been no activity for five weeks, except the normal daily check-ins.

He took another bite and sighed again more dramatically.

He graduated at the top of his class. He was one of the youngest analyst in his field. So where was he assigned? In the middle of _God's the only one who can find it_ country.

He looked around the small sparingly furnished room that opened up into another similar room, which contained the door leading to the outside. He was assigned and lived in the average looking house, which was located in the middle of a very dull and average city.

No one could tell from the outside, of the vaulted doors in the basement; the interrogation room; or the mountain of weapons, passports and cash stored safely behind steel doors. It had everything that was necessary for operatives to get minor medical care, keep their targets safe, and interrogate suspects. It also contained enough weapons to fight a third world war.

If you have the proper security clearance of course.

He stuffed the last large piece of toast in his mouth and chewed a little quicker. He heard the telltale sound that alerted him to Intel coming in. He would save the information to an encrypted USB-portable storage device. It was not necessary with his photographic memory but it was protocol.

In a safe-house in a remote location. Intel came in on a secure line. The once bored man sitting back in a chair was instantly alert as he ran to the screen. A picture appeared as he studied it. His fingers danced across the screen as a series of codes symbols and numbers were typed enthusiastically, appearing instantly on the screen. White colored words blurred across a blackened screen. His brilliant mind quickly interpreted. Fingers raced across the blackened screen in answer.

Thirty-two minutes later a conference call was scheduled to two continents and twelve different countries within those continents. Eight different countries' agencies would act in cooperation. The name of Mycroft Holmes carried weight. That name had called into agencies in several countries that owed the Ice Man or the Ghost as he was sometimes called; favors.

The purpose of the conference was to make plans and shared information.

The once bored young man quickly changed into a suit as the secured connections came up one-by-one. He was the man who suddenly had everyone's attention and was enjoying it. He quickly checked his hair in the reflection of the computer screen and smoothed it down. He waited excitedly for the secure conference that would occur in fifteen minutes.

He paced back and forth with nervous energy. Earlier, he considered only wearing his suit and a dress shirt and tie on the top and blue jeans on his bottom half but reconsidered. It would be disastrous if he had to get up for some reason and it was discovered that he had jeans and not trousers on. He looked at his watch and smiled.

Show time, he thought. He took a deep breath.

"Good morning and also night for some of you. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a rescue mission. Priority one, repeat, priority one. A picture and general information is being downloaded by secure encryption. He is not to be harmed under any circumstances. However, he is to be retrieved by any means necessary. It is reported that the abductee may be confused and or combative. The abductee's name is one Sherlock M. Holmes. Broad shoulders, slim build, six feet-two and a half inches or one point nine meters, pale complexion, dark hair. He is a thirty-one year old male, may be suffering from injuries…"

He began what would be a four-hour conference. It was only the beginning of the combined efforts of people who were very determined to find the missing Consultant Detective, brother, and friend.

* * *

A/N: Hope that you enjoyed, let me know. :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 18

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** **Thank you**; Esstell, Lunita28, eohippus, Prothoe, hJohn302, Burning Phoenix, Puky2012, Voldemort101, and Jenna Yemowa, for you review and PMs of the last post. You are really encouraging.

Thank you briongloid fiodoir, bruderlein, socalrose , danishprince, Nietzsches, Warm-Glow, drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, Peacefreakx3, and Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. Cyber cheer! **

_******SORRY**_ this is late posting. My traitorous body had enough and decided to be sick. I now know that I am officially among the ranks of the **obsessed** when in-between semiconscious states, I weakly pulled myself up to type and loved every moment of typing. (That is sickness on a different level.) I already have other chapters written but found many mistakes. I am rereading now and I will have it up very soon.

Love to all, (cough) Zacha

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

**REQUEST ALERT**: One of you requested something; look for it in these chapters. (Smile)

* * *

_**Current Day**_

A woman looked out the window of the airplane as it made a landing. She traveled far and was a little fatigued. Her arm brushed against the seat as she reached for the phone on the side of the wall. It rang briefly but was quickly answered.

"Is everything arranged?"

"Yes, when will you be arriving?" The voice on the other end asked.

She glanced at her watch before answering, "In forty to forty-five minutes. I can afford no delays."

"Yes, Mum." The voice said.

She hung up the phone as thoughts twirled in her mind.

* * *

"_**It is interesting to notice how some minds seem almost to create themselves, springing up under every disadvantage,**_

_**and working their solitary but irresistible way through a thousand obstacles."~ **_Washington Irving

* * *

_**Two Weeks Later**_

_**Current Day**_

He pushed the silk sheets aside. He stared at the ceiling and sighed. He was bored, confined to a bedroom. The attached bathroom was the only other room that he was allowed into without permission. He was not only bored but felt off balanced as well. No clock, the mirror had been removed from the bathroom the next day that he woke up. He was too tired to look at it the first day he awoke and only noticed because of the holes left in the wall.

A new change of pajama pants every day. He was not allowed any shoes. Never a shirt or dressing gown. It's not that he was cold, the temperature was pleasant but he felt exposed. Their only concession was to take out the guards that were eyeing him day and night. They now stood just outside the door. There were no phones of any kind, no computer, and no contact with anything outside of the admittedly beautiful room. He was surrounded by custom made or designer everything down to the underwear pants. A very lavish prison.

Someone wanted to keep him off-balanced and feeling dependent. The off-balanced was working but instead of feeling dependent, he felt imprisoned. He came to a decision. They were about to find out that he did not do imprisoned well.

He looked toward the windows. He was feeling stronger and the guards were becoming more annoyed with him. He wondered not remembering if he often annoyed people.

It was almost time for **her **to come judging by the position of the sun. She came every day, three times a day. She was annoying and her questions redundant but she was a living person to talk to.

No one explained anything to him despite their promises. All answers seemed vague and contrived, maybe even deceptive. But, how could he be sure of this? He did not know his own name, how could he trust his own mind.

Yet, he did trust it.

He knew things and was able to notice mannerisms in people. He learned that he was determined, stubborn, inquisitive, private, and maybe too straight forward. He knew he had a genius IQ and He took in everything, too much in fact. It was almost painful, more like a curse than a blessing. His head would pound in pain. He had to close his eyes sometimes to control the data flow as he tried to process it all.

There were times when he would sit still in the dark trying to categorize it all. It gave him time to process. He assumed he had learned to do this long ago but it was as if he was a child relearning things all over again.

He walked over to the window with the slightest of limps. It was his favorite place to be.

He glanced around the room and sighed. It was a beautiful cage but a cage nonetheless. He looked out his window and saw a red winged black bird escape the foliage and fly away.

"I envy you." He whispered. He felt like a trapped bird. To be free and soar to the heavens was his desire.

He wished he had something to throw. The crack as it sounded against the walls would be satisfying. He wished he had something in his hands, maybe a gun. What would he do with it he wondered? He would not actually shoot someone would he? He looked at the walls. However, the walls, he could shoot the walls. Maybe make a smiley face. He chuckled at the ridiculous thought. Who would actually do such a silly thing?

He looked at the wires almost hidden around the window casing. It was almost invisible to the naked eyes; he raised an eyebrow. He had the illusion of freedom but he was a prisoner. All the excuses and fast-talking on their parts could not convince him otherwise. He smiled and put his hands on the window.

Of course, someone would know that he had opened them.

"Let's test that theory, shall we," he said to himself quietly. He was determined to get answers. He knew that he might regret what he was about to do, but…

He looked. He was on ground level. It was a small drop to the outside, and then a slope. He was stronger now but he still had a slight limp and would not get far because he was weak. He would probably not even make it out the window. At least it would get their attention. He frowned as he considered the fact that getting their attention may not be a good thing.

"Here goes insanity," he said to himself as he opened the window in one swift move and pulled half his body through. His injured leg slowed him down as he suspected. Hands came around his waist and pulled him roughly in.

He discovered another new thing about himself at that moment. He could fight. He took out one of the guard's legs from under him as a loud thump was heard. Another hand grabbed him but he elbowed that guard in the gut. He heard curses floating in his ears from that side. Yet another hand grabbed at him. He pushed upward with the palm of his hand and a crunch sound was heard as guard number three grunted with pain. The guard reflectively let go and put his hands protectively over his bleeding nose. Before he could enjoy his victory, He was tackled from behind.

He was done as he felt the air being violently expelled from his lungs. He was still recovering so his burst of physical energy was short lived. He lay on the ground trying to catch his breath and ride the wave of pain that was radiating throughout his chest and left leg.

He heard footsteps in the room. He could not stop his mind from processing.

_High-heeled shoes, woman. _

_No, women_

_More footsteps. _

_Three today._

_Three persons._

_The first is Doctor Yáng._

_The second is from a five-foot, nine inch woman, athletic._

_The third is from a five-foot, four inch woman who smoked a pack a day, sedentary lifestyle._

He turned his head only to look at them. His hands were still wrenched behind his back. How did he know that from just their footsteps, he wondered frowning. Somehow, he knew that he was correct.

He was pulled up and deposited none too gently in the chair. Two hands firmly pressed on his shoulders, kept him in place. They had nothing to worry about, he was exhausted, his unmoving healing body unable to do any more damage.

He tried to even out his breathing. His eyes traveled in a way that he hoped was discreet to the taller dark haired assistant. He was not sure why. Something about her tickled his mind. What was it?

"… Are you not going to answer me now?"

He quickly recovered. "Let's be fair, you have not answered any of my questions."

"Mr… Sir, we have to do a systematic treatment plan. It's for your benefit, your care."

"That's the third time now, Doctor Yáng." He looked intently at her.

"What…" Doctor Yáng asked confused.

"The third time that you almost said my name? Do you care to share what it is, where I am, or perhaps why I am a prisoner in this room? Who is the man in the suit ? We have some history don't we, is it good or is it bad? We can start with any one of those questions, you pick."

He looked at the petite Asian woman. He would have considered her beautiful if it was not for two general considerations. The first was the fact that she was lying to him. The second was that behind that sweet little smile lay a personality that was capable of murder, torture, mayhem and general chaos all before morning tea.

He looked her in the eyes as she spoke. He felt this; it was not something she said. It was what she was trying with difficulty not to say.

His eyes again traveled to the dark haired woman. He was careful to look away after only a glance. He was ignoring the doctor as she spoke. He was paying more attention to her expressions instead of words. Now her movement drew his attention back completely.

"… All in good time." She finished saying. Doctor Jenna Yáng pulled out her notepad and started to write.

Someone brought him tea. "You should drink your tea." She stated casually.

"Everyone is always sticking a teacup in my face. I'll tell you if I need liquids." He said a little too sweetly.

"Your body is still recovering from major blood loss. I understand that you feel stronger, but that can be deceptive. You need lots of fluids." She kept writing.

"Wouldn't water be a better choice if it is dehydration that you're worried about?" It was not really a question.

"Will it be necessary to bring the IV fluids and strap you down while we make sure that you don't kill yourself?" She stopped writing and stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Two lumps of sugar please." He said dryly.

"We know." She gave a slight nod and someone moved in the background.

The sugar and cream were added to the tea. He drank it. It was too sweet. "I said two lumps not three…" He stopped speaking and looked at her.

"Drugged." He stated calmly as he blinked suddenly.

She looked as if she was about to deny it then thought better. "Just something to make you relax. Finish it. This way is much more pleasant. Trust me."

He put the cup down on the table defiantly. He expected it to be forced down his throat but was surprised that it was not.

Something flashed in her eyes for a second then it was gone.

"Back to the questions," she said a little too pleasantly. "Are the headaches getting worse?" Sherlock stared wordlessly at her.

She seemed to take it in stride. "Do you remember any vivid dreams?" He frowned but said nothing. "Do faces flash before your eyes, names, do you look at someone and have a feeling as if you know them?"

She looked at him intently. "Do you have a feeling as if something or someone important is missing?"

His body stiffened before he could stop it. He said nothing.

"Come, you must cooperate in your medical care, or do you enjoy all the attention that having memory loss gives you."

Sherlock body remained still. He moved his eyes only from the wall to Doctor Yáng. A look that used to make most suspects that he was interrogating cringe. It had the opposite effect on her. She smiled. She almost seemed to enjoy his anger.

She abruptly nodded and stood up. She left the room as well as the guards and her assistants.

He sighed relieved when they left the room. He picked up the teacup and took it to the bathroom. He dumped it down the sink after he dipped his finger in it. He hesitated for a moment then shrugged. He already took two large gulps; one more drop on the tip of his finger would not make any difference. He tasted it and concentrated. It was not anything that he believed he could identify.

He swallowed. His mouth felt suddenly dry. He put his mouth to the faucet and partially wrapped his mouth around it drinking in. He suddenly could not get enough water. Finally satisfied he turned the water faucet off. He was starting to get sleepy and his thought mottled. An effect of the drug he was sure. He wondered what would have happened if he drank the entire thing?

He shook his head and stumbled to the bed. He wished that there was some way to lock the door, but it only locked from the outside not the inside. He apparently was not the first person to be locked in that room.

He scarcely had time to process another thought as he fell to the bed. He rolled to stare at the ceiling as his eyes, against his will...

… Closed.


	19. Chapter 19

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 19

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

**REQUEST ALERT**: One of you requested something; look for it in these chapters. (Smile)

* * *

_**"Never, never, never give up!" ~**_ Winston Churchill

* * *

In a safe house in a remote location, the tell tale beeping sounds echoed in the small space. A tall lanky young man walked quickly into the room. He frowned as he looked at the screen. His eyes suddenly widened. He pushed a button quickly then pulled out the USB portable storage device and put it into the computer.

He carefully interpreted words as it raced across a blacken screen. A series of longitudes and latitudes were also scrolled across the screen. His fingers raced across the monitor as he typed in numbers and symbols requesting the needed permission.

He waited impatiently.

* * *

He stood under the hot running water. Rivets of water race downward, aided by the pull of gravity unnoticed as it slashed on the shower floor. His body was partially under the water and he stared straight ahead at nothing. He barely noticed that he had not finished shampooing his hair. His mind was lost on several projects at a time as he categorized and strategized his day. He came out of his mind and blinked a few times.

Mycroft heard it again, his heart race. No one would interrupt him in the shower except for war, a complete financial failure, an assassination, wanted or not wanted, or Sherlock.

His butler did not wait for a response, "Sir," he held his phone out as he picked up his robe and held it out for him. Mycroft answer and spoke with authority removing all emotions from his voice.

"Yes, do it immediately, consider this the highest priority."

Stream rolled out the room as he pushed the door open roughly; he started walking briskly.

"Send me all the information on who is the analyst, his record, history, his mother's favorite song, everything. Also, I want to speak to him personally."

He hung up the phone abruptly. "Did Doctor Watson leave last night or is he still in one of the guest rooms?" It was not unusual for John to stay over if they had a late night tracking down a lead on Sherlock.

"Yes, sir one of the cars dropped him off around one in the morning." The man answered as he followed Mycroft's quick movements into the dressing room that was neatly filled on four sides with suits.

"Get a suit ready," he said absently as he thought.

"Which one sir?" He knew that Mycroft was particular when it came to his appearance.

"I don't care; the quickest one but match everything of course." A solitary soapy drop of water rolled down his face. Mycroft sighed impatiently as he hurried back to the shower.

His butler raised an eyebrow at the normally unflappable man as he hurried to lay his clothing out.

As Mycroft walked briskly back toward the shower he pushed in a button. It was answered on the first ring.

"Yes," John said breathlessly.

"John we found something." He slowed his steps down as he frowned. "John, do take a breath."

He heard John swallow hard then say, "Breath taken." After a pause, the sounds of keys jingling were heard.

John then asked, "How close is the car?"

"Four to five minutes. Traffic will be in your favor. You will arrive here quickly." Mycroft informed John.

"Right, see you then." Both calls were disconnected. Mycroft let his robe fall to the ground as he stepped quickly back into the shower. He rinsed the soap from his hair hurriedly.

* * *

It came within ten minutes. He noted to himself that that was the fastest that he had ever received permission. He pushed in the codes and symbols and then he grabbed a cup of coffee.

He waited.

Slowly an image of the earth came up. Soon it was the image of the coastline of a country. Forest and trees were scattered. Clouds were seen next. An image of a clearing and several roads with a rectangle shaped object came on the screen. The object became larger and more defined as the image zoomed in. Now it was a clear image of what appeared to be a mansion located on a large acreage of land.

The tall lanky young man smiled, impressed with himself and his speed. He typed in the findings and a message which appeared instantly on the computer screen. He hit send.

He turned to get his coffee expecting it to be another ten minutes for a reply. Within a second screams of data flowed back to him. He looked curiously and frowned, the smile suddenly left his face. He typed back some information. This time he waited in front of the screen, unmoving as Intel flooded back in. He disbursed it to several countries and several different agencies.

He waited for a few seconds and then exhaled a breath. It was a strange turn of events, but it seemed to be over now. He stretched his hand to pick up his coffee when a phone rang. Not a phone, **the phone**.

The one that never rang, rung.

The lanky man's frown deepened as he quickly picked up the phone.

"Hello," he said. An ID number was given and authenticated. Fear came as he realized who he was speaking to, **personally**.

"Hello Mr. Patel. I understand you traced a location by satellite." The voice was polished and perfectly toned. Probably to have one guessing what emotions, if any, were present, the young man guessed.

"Yes sir," The fear left as his pride took a front seat.

"I want you to keep watch on that location. I want to know of any movements." There was a slight pause, "Mr. Patel."

"Yes Sir," his smile widened.

"If fleas leaves a dog while sitting on the front grass of that property, I want to know about it." There was another pause, "Immediately."

Patel's smile left.

"Yes Sir," He said.

"That will be all; you can get back to your coffee now. Although I do fear, it may be cold. Good day." The caller disconnected. Patel's frowned now. He reached for his coffee and took a sip. It **was** cold.

He looked around the room, his frown deepened.

He dry wiped his face as he looked at the screen. He sat down as he pressed the keys enthusiastically. He would not miss anything.

He would make sure.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are like tea to my soul. I need tea right now. (Cough)

Lots of Love, Zacha


	20. Chapter 20

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 20

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you Prothoe, briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, Puky2012, socalrose , ShiverandShamy (SAS), hJohn302, Voldemort101, and Jenna Yemowa, or you review and PMs of the last post.

Thank you ; Esstell, Lunita28, eohippus, Burning Phoenix, bruderlein, danishprince, Nietzsches, Warm-Glow, drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, Peacefreakx3, and Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. Cyber hugs for you! **

_********__**Thank you for all your kind words and cyber tea. It may entertain you to know that for every cyber tea sent, I drank a real tea. ( I was supposed to drink lots of liquids.) Your well wishes made me smile.( While conscious of course.) I am a little tired still but much better, thanks again.**_ You were tea to my thirsty soul. Ok… Ok, I know that that was corny, but it is nonetheless true (Smile)

Love to all, Zacha

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N:Substitute if you like baseball bat for cricket bat. Not the same thing but you will get the idea.

* * *

"_**Hear no evil, speak no evil - and you'll never be invited to a party**_" ~Oscar Wilde quotes

* * *

_The Next Day_

_**Current Day**_

Sounds of screaming and crying echoed off of the walls of the damp basement floor.

"Please… please… please… I swear I ain't the one that took da money. I swear… I swear." The tall muscular man broke down into a fit of sobs and whimpers.

Another man in a Westwood suit, looked over his phone as it played a familiar tune. Bach Sonatas, Number Three. He took a moment to enjoy the music.

He frowned. "Shut. Up!" He growled while glaring at the sniveling man. The tall man put his sleeve to his mouth to muffle his own sounds. He could not help weeping, but he choked back any other words as it turned to harsh gasps and hiccups.

"Idiot," Moriarty commented as he picked up his mobile and pushed a button on his phone.

"Yes," he said absently as he looked at his nails. It was time for a trim.

"Mr. Moriarty, this is Doctor Yáng."

There was a brief pause as Moriarty sighed.

"Are you a half-wit? I know who you are, the question is what do you want?" He said impatiently.

"Um, yes. The matter about Mr. Holmes, Sir. I believe that he is close to recovering his memories. His focus and mind is becoming more clear every day, and… he discovered that we were drugging him. There was an error with the sugars. Someone miscalculated the drug amount that was put in his tea. The extra sweetness made him suspicious."

"And what do **you** plan to do about this? He is one injured man with amnesia, Are you saying that you can't handle him, **Doctor** Yáng?"

Moriarty walked and picked up a cricket bat with his free hand as he held the phone with the other. The smell of linseed oil permeated the moderately sized space. He looked at the man on his knees curiously.

"I plan to arrive in a few days. It is your responsibility that when I do, a recreated man stands before me."

"One second." Moriarty turned around. He whispered an apology to the whimpering man who then bowed his head after Moriarty looked at him. His whimpering increased.

"The plans that we discussed earlier over the phone. As I said, it is an experimental drug. It will not affect his intellect in the slightest but physically it may cause the side effects that we discussed earlier. His moods can be unpredictable. And, any sudden withdrawal from the drug will be extraordinarily painful, possibly dangerous."

There was a pause as the rustle of papers was heard, "In the test subjects, the drugs results were quite promising. Nevertheless, his mind is exceptional and the results to him may be a bit unpredictable." There was a another smaller pause, "Shall I proceed?"

"It will not affect his intellect." Moriarty wanted confirmation.

"No sir, but he may suffer physically if we are not cautious."

"Oh, pain, is that all? Then yes proceed." He fingered the blade of a cricket bat in his hand as his fingers ran along the flat end. He then hit the bat on the floor a few times. There was more whimpering.

"By the way Doctor Yáng, if you should not fulfill my wishes exactly, your services will no longer be required."

"Sir, do you mean that my employment will be terminated without pay?" She heard the phone click in her ears.

She frowned briefly. She would get through to the test subject, one way or another.

* * *

Moriarty turned back to the man smiling. His mood much happier.

He looked at the man inquiringly. Four of his men were waiting for further instructions.

"Tell the truth," he said calmly walking back and forth.

"I… I swear, I thought you were de… dead. I thought I was stealing from the other p… person, Ayyad. I would never steal from you, Sir. You… know I would never… never steal from you." He broke down and cried again.

Thinking of Sherlock affected Moriarty. He was in a rare generous mood and decided to do something more rare, he would forgive him.

"I forgive you." Moriarty said as he tested the words.

"What Sir?" The man sniveled. The man never knew his real name, Sir was all he had ever called him.

"I forgive you." Moriarty said more confidently the second time.

The Master Criminal looked at the man and smiled.

The tall bloodied man that was on his knees started to cry in relief. Moriarty frowned.

"Pat his shoulder or something," Moriarty told one of his men. The closest guard looked confused and stiffly patted the shoulder of the man on his knees. This made him cry harder from relief.

"Well, time to go," Moriarty said.

"Tha… Thank ya S… Sir," he wiped the snot from his nose with the back of his sleeve. He couldn't use his fingers; they were broken. Moriarty turned to leave then stopped suddenly.

"Oh, I almost forgot." He half turned.

"Peel the flesh from his chest only, just the front and break one knee, he can choose which one." He waved one arm in the air dramatically as he searched the internet already bored.

"While he's alive?" One guard asked.

"Of course. If he was dead, it wouldn't hurt now would it?" Moriarty changed screens while opening a new web page on his phone. "Moron," he said to himself. Normal people could be so thick.

"Um, no Sir," One of his men said as they prepared to drag the suddenly quiet man away. It surprised no one that the spot that he had knelt, suddenly had a wet puddle on the ground.

"Wait!" Moriarty looked at the man intently all amusement vanished from his face. His brown eyes looked as if it was swallowed in darkness. "You forgot to say thank you." The man on his knees was reminded with all sincerity.

"Thank you," The suddenly quiet man whispered in a monotone voice as he stared into nothingness.

"You're welcome," Moriarty suddenly smiled. One should always say thank you when one is forgiven. He **always** had to say thank you whenever his father would _forgive_ him as a child.

"Release him when you're done." He waved his hand dismissively as his attention returned to his phone.

"Well," he said with a big smile, "Don't want to be late for my next appointment."

The man remained quiet, opened mouth, and wide eyed as he was dragged away toward the back room where the tools were.

Moriarty smoothly put on his sunglasses before he exited the building.

The driver opened the door for Moriarty. He climbed effortlessly into the back seat of the Mercedes Benz. His body pulled gently to the right as the car pulled onto the abandoned dirt road. He sat back searching the internet on his mobile phone as the Benz gently bumped and rocked while driven.

Some buttons were pushed and a picture of a bedroom and a sleeping man came on the screen of the mobile phone. Holmes started to awaken. Moriarty smiled, as he looked intrigued.

He was no longer bored.

He never knew of the renewed screams of the man in the building that he just drove away from. The car disappeared in a cloud of dust down the lonely dirt road.


	21. Chapter 21

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 21

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

* * *

_**"A champion is someone who gets up, even when he can't."**_ ~ Jack Dempsey

* * *

_The Next Day_

_**Current Day**_

It has been two weeks and a day since he had awakened with any kind of strength.

Another night passed, he woke in his bed as always. He heard a slight buzzing sound that seemed to lessen in intensity as he stilled himself and laid flat, waiting for it to dissipate. When he first woke, a quickly fading vision of someone or something melted away despite his attempts to hold on to it. He had a feeling as if something precious or important was slipping just outside of his reach. Moments later, the feelings were completely gone; along with his memories as he blinked open his eyes, embracing consciousness.

His brain felt mottled and his body heavy for the first time in over a week. The events of the previous day came slowly to him. He had apparently fallen asleep after the drugged tea. He had no memories after that.

He was frankly pleasantly surprised that he was not strapped down somewhere, being reminded in the most dramatic ways that he had been annoying. He knew that he could at any time be taken. He also knew that anything that his abductors, as he had come to think of them, thought of doing could be done to him.

He frowned.

"Time to start another exciting day," he said sarcastically as he sat up.

He almost fell over as he pushed himself to his feet. His arms came reflectively out to grab at the tall wooden bedpost. He caught and steadied himself.

"Are we having fun yet?" He asked himself sarcastically as he tested his unsteady feet. He kept one hand in front of him in case he fell. The other held on to furniture for support. His steps became more sure as he walked.

He looked in the bathroom. He noticed the chair just outside the bathroom door. One towel, one clean pajama bottoms only, and one clean underpants was neatly folded next to the door. The thought that someone came into the room while he was sleeping bothered him. He decided not to worry about the things that he could not control.

He hooked his hands under his pajama and pants to pull them down in one swift move but stopped. Something the doctor said led him to the conclusion that he was being watched. He looked around the room and frown. It was well hidden if it was a camera. It was pointless, he was in no condition to search when walking was an effort.

He glanced at the window. He almost smiled at the thought that he would not make it far if he tried to leave out of the window today.

He made a decision. He reminded himself that he would not worry about the things that he could not control. He decided that if they wanted to watch, he did not care as long as they did not touch him.

If they wanted a show, so be it.

He sighed as he pushed his clothes down, undressing. He stepped out of them, leaving them on the floor. He picked up the clean clothes and walked unsteadily toward the shower. He only paused briefly and dropped his clothes on the chair in the spacious room.

He walked into the shower closing the door behind. He stretched his shoulder toward the wall of the shower as his right hand supported him as he showered. His body felt heavy and his mind sluggish. Shaking, he ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair, pushing back the soapy water from his face.

It occurred so gradually that he never noticed that his knees were buckling and his eyes closing.

A drug encouraged sleep pulled at him.

A place flashed in his mind. He gasped as his eyes flew open and he grabbed at the ledge in the shower to keep himself from falling. One forearm was banged. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

"That's going to leave a bruise." He said blinking heavily as he looked at the water as it fell to the shower floor and twirled down the drain.

He tried to blink away the sluggishness and shook his head once again.

"Well, at least that woke me up." He frowned dryly. He sighed because of what he was about to do. He turned the water to almost cold. He stood shivering under it in an attempt to become more alert. He tried to think about the place that flashed before his mind for the third time now.

Seven minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom.

He walked with the slightest of limps to the generously oversized windows. He felt a drop of water drip on his shoulders as it fell from his hair. His muscles stretched as he put both arms extended with his palms flat on the window.

He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sunlight radiating on his hands, chest, and face. Sunlight flooded the room. No lights were needed in the daytime, yet there was something about the room, an oppression, a darkness lingering that was barely pushed back by the tiniest thread of something else that was equally unidentifiable.

Hope?

Hope.

Someone cared about him, was looking for him, and would not give up until he was safe. The knowing became stronger every day. But, how could he be sure? How could he trust his own self when he could not even recall his life or his own name? Worse, to base all hope on a feeling.

He concluded that he was not the kind of man to base things on feeling but the evidence of his own mind. Facts, data, the things that were measurable and could not be corrupted or misunderstood.

Still, no matter how much he reasoned with himself the feeling would not let him be. Someone was looking for him.

Maybe more than one someone.

He thought about his situation. He ignored the familiar headache that came whenever he would try to remember or think too deeply. He ignored the room that he was in. The beautiful mahogany floor and beamed ceiling and furniture melted away.

He concentrated, the headache becoming worse. Sweat started to appear on his face, back, and chest. He tried to distract himself from the pain by concentrating on the feeling of the sun on his face and body.

A sharp bolt of pain shot through his head. He hissed and continued to concentrate as drops of sweat rolled down his face and body.

Suddenly with a flash, he was violently propelled as if pushed by an invisible hand into a place in his mind. He came to an abrupt stop. He gasped but continued to concentrate not understanding what he was seeing. It was too clear to be a delusion. The image was as clear and sharp as if it was real.

It was some sort of palace by the looks of it. He noticed that he had a dark suit on. Something was playing softly in the background.

A violin?

Yes, it was a violin.

What was the violin playing?

Bach, Partita Number One.

He looked around confused but for some reason not afraid. The atmosphere there was light and airy, as well as peaceful. There was a staircase leading to upper floors. He started to walk. His shoes produced a tapping sound as it came in contact with the marble floors.

He came to the first of many beautiful and ornate Oak doors. His hand touched the walls. He could actually feel the walls. He rubbed his fingertips together curiously.

"Interesting," he thought.

Fascinated yet cautious, his hand slowly moved to grab the doorknob to turn it. Before he could reach it, his outstretched hand caused the door to open. He looked at his hand, stretched it out, and with a thought closed it.

So, his hands control this… whatever this was, this place. He moved his hands in short synchronized movements, the door opened again on its own accord, as if moved by an invisible hand. He looked in.

The room itself was elegantly and distinctively decorated, but somehow he knew that the room itself was not important, it was the books in the room on the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that were. He knew that the books symbolized data, information, memories.

He paused.

This was the wrong room.

He closed that door. He looked three doors down. Something was pulling him toward the third door. A barely noticeable swaying in the palace began. He had to reach, unlock, and then open the third door. It was important.

No, it was vital.

He could not remember why.

He walked briskly to the door each step closer made the swaying in that strange place more violent. He reached out his hand toward the door. He moved his hands in short synchronized movements. This door did not open like the rest. He was confused. He put his hands on his hips deep in thought. He felt something in one pocket. He frowned and felt inside. He looked at the key.

The swaying increased more as he touched the key. He looked at the doorknob and noticed a lock. He put the key in the lock and slowly turned. He turned more and heard the click of a lock unlocking.

He took a deep breath and prepared to open the door. A blinding bright light assaulted him. It started to clear. Someone's face started to come into focus in his mind, as he prepared to give the door a push.

* * *

"… _Restrain him!"_ floated into his mind.

With his hand still on the doorknob, he was violently pulled backwards as if by a string, away from that world.

_Open your eyes_, he thought to himself.

His eyes gradually opened, blinking. He felt as if his body was floating.

Not floating, being carried.

He noticed himself being pulled from his room to a passageway. He was heading toward a door to another room that he has never been in before. The two guards had him. One was at the top of his body and one at his feet. One was walking beside him talking on a phone.

Shock paralyzed him for a moment as he tried to understand what had happened, was happening. He had not been allowed out of the room since he woke over two weeks ago, now he was being dragged to another room.

He knew that he was, although stronger, still too weak to resist. He was completely at their mercy and should not make them angry. The logical thing to do was to wait and see what they wanted.

With all this in mind, he still fought, ignoring the pain in his leg and head.

"Sir, calm down or we'll have to use other means to calm you," someone said.

He thought that his energies were best used struggling not chatting.

They moved him into a smaller room well lit with a padded metal table; it was a thick leather mat pad on it. What gave him pause was that the table had leather restraints. He also noticed various other equipment, devices and medications.

His body went cold.

He felt one hand being forced into one restraint then the other. He fought a battle he would not win. His feet were more easily subdued when a hand put pressure on his still sore left leg. He grunted out in pain as he was quickly restrained.

He shuttered as the sweat on his skin and bare chest came in contact with the cold air and the cold pad on top of the table. They had gone out of their way to make him comfortable and pain free. This was the first time since he awakened and spoke to the man in the suit, that he had been manhandled. The two guards that had cared for him and provided his every need, now stood at the edge of his vision.

He was off-balanced, and confused, and if he was honest, feeling a little vulnerable. He wet his suddenly dry lips and looked at the woman standing over him for the first time.

"Doctor Yáng, not our usual sessions." He tried to sound casual but was not sure that he succeeded.

"No need to be formal, call me Jenna."

"Considering my current circumstances, I think not."

"Mr… I am only trying to help you." Doctor Yáng corrected herself.

"Finish your statement," He said tiredly. He closed his eyes, his anger and apprehension growing.

"Mr. who? You almost slipped and said my name. Again. Afraid hearing it may trigger a memory." He did not think that he had anything to lose or any reason to use tack now.

"What memory? Do you see, you forced my hand. I came in your room every day and you refused to comply with my treatment plan. Now, you're paranoid. I'm only trying to do what is in your best interest." Her hand caressed his cheek and rubbed his bare chest.

Anger raged through him as he pulled at his restraints violently.

"I'll have to add violent outburst to the reports as well." She smiled.

"Free my hands. Let's make sure that your report is accurate." He growled.

She had a notepad handed to her by one of her two female assistants.

"Let's try again." She said sweetly. She nodded and spoke to the other female, giving instructions.

"Start the drip at ten ml per hour. If he becomes agitated, increase it up to three drops per minute not more without my approval. The electrical rate stays the same. If increased watch for seizures." Doctor Yáng instructed.

He looked, as electrodes were peeled then attached to his sides, and monitors to his chest. The coolness of the gel pads were a bit of a shock against his already cool skin.

"So now it's torture," he asked almost monotone.

"Of course not, it's treatment." Doctor Yáng replied sweetly.

He frowned as two earpieces were put in his ears. Spots on his scalp were roughly cleaned with a cotton swab and an unknown solution. Eight more electrodes were then attached to the cleaned areas of his scalp.

His frown deepened as a screen attached to the ceiling above his head came on. Images with single words behind them flashed. His ears were flooded with single sentence messages, then loud sounds at intervals.

Heart Monitors and EKG and EEG machines buzzed to life. His senses were overwhelmed with images, words, and sound. His mind already naturally processed more images in an hour than most people do in a day so he was quickly overwhelmed.

He turned his face away from the ceiling and closed his eyes trying to shut out the images. He made choking sounds as his body convulsed. His eyes rolled in the back of his head. He struggled to breath as he fought against the wave of nausea and the blinding pain.

His muscles were released and extended suddenly. He fell back on the padded table. The electrical charge dissipated as quickly as it started. His muscles ached from the sudden and violent contractions. He tried gulping oxygen and to regulate his breathing.

Apparently closing of the eyes was not permitted.

Holmes felt someone put a leather strap around his head immobilizing it. He felt a stick in his arm and a burning sensation that only increased his nausea. He fought the nausea not wishing to choke on his back should he vomit. The doctor left the two assistants after giving them both instructions.

With a backward smirk, the doctor left the room.

* * *

Thirty-minutes later, the two assistants were talking.

One had been transferred from another facility and they were talking, trying to get to know each other better. The shorter woman was having trouble with her boyfriend.

"Well I need a cuppa. You?" The shorter woman said.

"Yeah, if you don't mind. Black, no cream, no sugar."

"Sure. You're sure you can handle him on your own?" The shorter woman asked.

The new transfer looked and laughed. "He's not going anywhere."

The shorter woman laughed and got up to leave closing the door behind her. Only one guard was there now.

After she left out the door, the new recruit spoke.

"Do you mind? I need a change of clothes and a warm towel with water." She looked pleadingly at the guard.

"A towel is over there and there is the sink." He said as he really looked at her for the first time.

"Come on, he's not going anywhere. He will need a change of clothes. They always do if you know what I mean." She chuckled lightly as she smiled warmly at the guard. He smiled back.

He looked the man over and conceded. He chuckled aloud. "I'll be right back gorgeous." Her smile widened all the while looking at him as he walked out the door.

Her smile dropped as the door closed. She swallowed as she walked over to the sink. She warmed the towel under the water then squeezed most of the moisture out. She walked over to the table careful to keep her back to the small camera in the corner. She discreetly pulled the earpiece from his ears and blocked the overhead screen with her body.

She already turned off the shock machine and powered down the ceiling projector. It would take a few minutes for it to finish its last cycle and go blank. She stopped the drip and quickly put up a new bag. She pretended to inject the medication in the bag but pocketed it instead in her lab coat. She could not take back what was already infused in his body, but at least he would not get anymore.

He was shivering. She loosened the leather strap around his head and wiped his face. The confusion seemed to lift from his eyes as he looked at her blinking. She smiled sadly as she wiped his face. He tried to talk but choked. She hurriedly got him water.

"Only a little." She warned as she supported his head. He drank after he attempted a nod.

She frowned as he looked at his trembling body. She looked in his eyes and almost smiled. He was confused but he was still there. She glanced by moving her eyes only at the door. She thought briefly of releasing his arms and feet but knew it was not wise. She could make up an excuse for everything she had done so far, but not for releasing him.

"W… Why," he stuttered so quietly she had to put her ear to his lips to hear him.

She smiled and put her mouth to his ear and whispered to him. She knew that her time was short but she refused to put the earpiece back in his ears or turn on the shock machine until she had too. She heard footsteps at the door. She said one last thing to him.

She whispered, "I know you, you're stronger than you may think you are right now, you're a fighter, so fight."

She whispered one last word to him then gave his hand a squeeze. He squeezed back weakly and gave a discreet nod. She kept eye contact as the door opened and closed.

"What are you doing?" A female voice from behind asked.

"Oh, wiping his face and chest, the poor dear vomited a little on himself. I was also giving him a little water to wash the taste from his mouth." She winked at him, her back was still to the shorter woman. Sherlock's eyes followed her but he said nothing.

_Newbies_, the shorter woman thought to herself as she shook her head. "Look, I use to do the same thing, she said sincerely. It helps if you think of them as test subjects, not real people." She smiled gently. "I can take care of him."

"No. It's as you said, he's not a real person so I'll do it." The taller assistant said.

"If you're sure."

"Yeah," She put what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face. She looked in his eyes. He was still following her with his eyes as if she was a lifeline. She then turned around and put the earpiece back in loosely. She put a leather bit in his mouth. He had bitten his lips. She put the leather strap back on his head. She reluctantly turned the sound then the ceiling screen back on. He closed his eyes as images flooded his senses again.

The shorter woman frowned. He should have received a shock when he closed his eyes and did not. She laughed.

"You forgot to turn on the shock machine silly."

"Did I?" The taller woman asked quietly as she kept looking in his eyes, willing her strength to him. She didn't move to turn it on.

"Yes, I'll do it." The shorter woman said. She pushed a button and immediately his body jerked as every muscle in his body contracted and spasm. His eyes rolled and He gagged as he struggled to get air in. It was over quickly.

The shorter woman walked over to her seat and started to write her reports on the **test subject**. If she thought it unusual that the tall woman stood over the test subject, unmoving, she did not comment.

Sometimes a newbie did strange things. She used to do the same, until she realized that it was better not to think of them as people.

The newbie would learn just like she learned.

* * *

Nine slow hours passed.

He struggled to keep his eyes opened. He had vomited twice and suffered every humiliation that a man can suffer. His body shook from fatigue and pain.

His mind was jumbled, his thoughts cloudy. He was on the very edge of unconsciousness, but he was fighting. He could not remember why.

One thing kept floating to his mind. One word that he held on to and refused to let go, even though he was unsure why now. The last word that was whispered in his ear.

He repeated it in his mind like a mantra, a lifeline. "Sherlock… Sherlock… Sherlock."

* * *

A/N: Let me know what you think.

Lots of Love


	22. Chapter 22

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 22

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you for your reviews and PMs of the last post. eohippus, Prothoe, Lunita28, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , socalrose , hJohn302, Voldemort101, and Jenna Yemowa. **Thank you for the mental push that you gave me.**

Thank you ; briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, . , Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, Puky2012, Esstell, Lunita28, Burning Phoenix, bruderlein, danishprince, Warm-Glow, drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. You are appreciated! **

***Thing that you should know: 1.** Peckish** means hungry. 2**. Fag** is a cigarette.

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

* * *

_**Please seat yourself at our table,**_

_**A fine meal we will prepare.**_

_**Eat quickly while you are able,**_

_**For the house is saying **_"**Beware."**

~Jan's Courtyard

* * *

_**Current Day**_

It was three days of busy activity.

Doctor Yáng made the expected call. She sighed as she looked at her watch. The other line picked up right away. This time she spoke without introducing herself.

"The procedure is over with Holmes. When he wakes, we will see how much of the false memories he will retain." She picked up a report and read before speaking.

"It is best if the implanted memories have a chance to take root in him. He should have limited contact for three days. We will attend to his needs for those three days. All that you've asked us to do was done. He was programmed with the false memories. He will be highly suggestible to your voice as you requested. His own memories are repressed. Of course the the second series of drugs must be taken for three months for any effect to be permanent. He is about to receive the last dose of the first series of drugs."

"_I'll cut my trip short. I'll be back in three days and Doctor Yáng…" Moriarty said._

"Yes Sir,"

"… _I expect results."_

"Well, Sir…" The click of a phone ended the conversation. Doctor Yáng pulled the mobile from her ear and looked at it. She started to wonder for the first time if the outrageous amount of money that she was paid was worth it.

The scientist turned back to the sleeping man. Holmes was unconscious now. He fought against it, he lasted longer than the rest, but in the end, he lost his fight as everyone always does.

"It would seem that our employer is cutting his trip short. He will be back in three days, not in three weeks." She walked up to Holmes as he lay on the metal table. His hands were still in the leather restraints even though there was no longer any need to restrain him.

The doctor ran a hand over his cheek almost fondly. "Get him out of here, prepare him. We don't have much time." Doctor Yáng sighed. "If this doesn't work, cancel your holidays ladies; I am afraid this mansion is the last thing that your eyes will see."

She looked at his face. "You've caused me a lot of trouble Mr. Holmes." With one last dramatic sigh, the scientist walked out of the lab. She would personally prepare the dosages. She could not afford any mistakes.

"I'll stay with him tonight," the taller lab assistant said.

"Are you sure?" The shorter assistant named Kim asked.

"Yeah, but first I need a fag, and I'm simply peckish. I could also use some coffee, you?"

"No, nothing thanks," Kim said.

The guards came to get Holmes and lifted the unconscious man up. The taller assistant frowned.

"They're just going to get him showered and changed," Kim said distractedly.

The taller assistant still frowned before saying, "I'll just go along, one of us is supposed to."

"Don't be silly," the shorter woman, said.

"Nothing is going to happen, even if it does so what, it's not our problem," Kim added.

The taller assistant took a breath to control the anger. She put on a false smile.

"Do you think that's wise? Our employer seems to be very particular about what happens to his test subject. Technically, he is under our care. He does not seem too forgiving. If anything… unwanted should happen to him…" The taller woman let the other assistant fill in her own conclusion.

The shorter assistant, Kim swallowed. "Um, I'll go along to see if they need help."

"I'll get the coffee, have a smoke and then I'll watch him all night." The taller assistant offered.

"Really?" Kim confirmed happily.

"Yes," The taller assistant smiled back as she rose from the lab chair and hurried out the room.

* * *

The second kitchen where the staff was allowed to get coffee, was located next to the back of the mansion. There was shrubbery that landscaped the back that led to a clearing, then a forest. There were two men who regularly patrolled the grounds. They were armed with weapons and did not look particularly friendly.

The taller woman walked outside onto the beautiful grounds. The sun would set soon.

"You're not allowed to leave the grounds without permission," a well built, muscular guard stopped her abruptly. "We have been ordered to lock down the mansion."

The taller assistant looked surprised and smiled shyly. "I won't be gone long. I just need a smoke and I like a little walk while I smoke a cigarette."

He looked like he almost wavered. He could use a smoke himself, he thought. He looked at the other guard walking a distance away. "Sorry love, can't right now." He nodded his head toward the other guard.

"Thanks anyway." She smiled as she turned to go. The guard watched her leave. He looked a little longer than necessary; he always did like a redhead. The glasses were a turn-on too.

Her smile left as soon as she turned around. She had to try another way.

In the kitchen, the taller woman poured herself a coffee. She took out her cigarette then put them back in. One of the cooks came up to her curiously.

"Hi, how are you?" The cook finally ventured.

"Fine, Thanks for the coffee." The taller assistant said deep in thought.

Two guards walked out of the kitchen as they moved toward the back. They were ready to replace the current guards who had already been on duty for their twelve-hour work shift. Both women discreetly watched them go.

The taller assistant watched the cook for a moment then came to a decision. The cook eyed her suspiciously now that they were both alone.

The assistant smiled and pulled out a cigarette then said. "I forgot, no smoking inside. Here, you might as well take these; I won't be able to use them. I can't leave, not even to get a smoke. I have **three **cigarettes left. **S**URELY, it would have been nice to go **H**OME."

The assistant looked the cook in the eyes, "**Just three**. Well I've better be getting back to the test subject."

The cook smiled at her and waved. "Enjoy your coffee. Oh, you forgot your **three** sugars." She walked over and nodded discreetly before handing them to her.

"Yes, thanks, I almost forgot." A fleeting look of relief crossed the assistant's face before it was gone. She reached out, took the packets of sugar, and put them in her pocket. The taller assistant again nodded her thanks and hurried along.

The cook looked around and thought. Another group lazily walked into the kitchen as the cook hurriedly left.


	23. Chapter 23

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 23

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you for your reviews and PMs of the last post. eohippus, Prothoe, Lunita28, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , socalrose , hJohn302, Voldemort101, and Jenna Yemowa. **Thank you for the mental push that you gave me.**

Thank you ; briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, . , Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, Puky2012, Esstell, Lunita28, Burning Phoenix, bruderlein, danishprince, Warm-Glow, drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. You are appreciated! **

***Thing that you should know: 1.** Peckish** means hungry. 2**. Fag** is a cigarette

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

* * *

_**"The one unchangeable certainty is that nothing is certain or unchangeable."**_ -John F. Kennedy

* * *

_**Current Day**_

**Undisclosed Location.**

Agent Thomas stepped off the plane.

His hand gripped the metal handrail as his feet could be heard clicking against the metal. His normal suit was replaced with a tee shirt and khaki trousers. His muscular arms automatically brushed away the hair that a sudden gust of wind blew in his face. His sides and back were still short but his front was worn a little longer now and brushed back. At times like this, when the wind blew his hair back in his face, he thought of cutting all of his hair short again just so that he would not have to bother.

He sighed as impatient fingers fought the wind and again combed his hair out of his eyes. He looked around and glanced at his watch. He heard the sound of a motor. He looked to his right and saw a manned combat vehicle come to a stop below the runway. A tall and well build dark-skinned man walked up. He had a South African accent.

"Hero Sir, I'm Captain Magoro." They both did not waste time as The Captain handed a report over to Thomas and started to speak. "We have people positioned close to the ground but there have been…" The Captain looked at Agent Thomas without slowing his steps, "… complications. I will brief you fully in the car."

Thomas looked at the beautiful country as he easily slid into the back seat. One of these days, he thought, he would actually have the time to appreciate it.

Thomas could not help to wonder what they would find, and what the lunatic was doing to Sherlock Holmes. He had been assigned to him, on and off for many years, and despite his ability to find trouble, was actually fond of the man. He and Holmes had especially connected during the last case.

He looked out the window as the car pulled away from the runway and soon found the gravel road.

As the combat vehicle disappeared, in a cloud of dust, Thomas thought about the fact that he would take it personally if Holmes was injured or abused in any way.

* * *

_**"Listen to the night wind as it whispers your name,  
It is calling."**_

~Frightbytes

* * *

Moriarty looked at his phone as he drove in the back seat of the black Mercedes. He looked curiously at the figure on his electronic device as they carried Holmes back to the bed and dressed him. He saw Doctor Yáng come into the room. She sat writing a report. She then left leaving one of her assistants with Holmes.

His finger caressed the screen as it touched the image of the man on the bed.

The small screen was clear.

Moriarty became annoyed now that the woman assistant sat on the bed next to Holmes. She blocked some of his view to Holmes.

He always liked an unblocked view of the detective.

The tall, shorthaired redhead assistant always seemed to have her back to the camera. The signal became lost for a moment as the car being driven changed direction.

Jim huffed frustrated as he looked at the driver as if he was somehow responsible for his devices signal strength. He looked back at the device in his hand. The image was small but now unclear; still, something caught his attention.

He was not sure what it was at first.

Jim's eyebrows raised in surprise. He looked shocked then a low giggle erupted from his lips. He lay his head back on the cool leather and laughed fully now.

Jim cursed as he giggled. "How adorable," he said to himself. He spoke to the driver. He hummed a tune while he punched in a number on his mobile phone. The game was starting to get interesting.

"Hello Sebastian, I need you to do something. Doctor John H. Watson. Fetch him for me. I'll need him in the next seven days."

_The voice on the other end of the phone spoke. "Sir, he's very well protected."_

"Sounds like a personal problem to me Seb. All I care about is that I have Doctor Watson by the end of the week. And Sebastian, be gentle with him, I have special plans for the doctor."

"_Yes Sir." The call disconnected._

"Very special plans my pet." He said to the air.

Moriarty's attention turned to the driver, "I'll be heading home now."

"Yes sir, I've made arrangements for you. I am aware that your plans have changed. You are leaving in three days not in three weeks." The driver never took his eyes off the road.

"I've changed them again, do keep up. Not three days, I'll leave right now you cretin," Moriarty was annoyed. He was already searching the internet.

"Yes Sir," the driver turned the car around and headed for the private plane. He knew better than to ask questions.

* * *

**A/N: Hi everyone, **I wrote a few more chapters but I was not sure about the flow of events. It is critical that it is not confusing as it leads up to the next chapters.

I will post one chapter a day for the next few days starting tomorrow. Please comment, big or small it is appreciated. Let me know if the events are clear, but be gentle. You know I consider all comments. :)

**Love to all.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 24

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you for your reviews and PMs of the last post. Prothoe, Taylor501, eohippus, hJohn302, socalrose, Warm-Glow, and Jenna Yemowa. **Thank you for commenting, your support, encouragement, and points of view. It was helpful. **

**Thanks **Prothoe for going through the trouble of reposting, you made me smile.

**Thank you** ; Lunita28, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Voldemort101, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, Puky2012, Esstell, Lunita28, Burning Phoenix, bruderlein, danishprince, drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. A thousand thank yous! **

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

* * *

_**To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,**_

_**Creeps in this petty pace from day to day**_

_**To the last syllable of recorded time,  
**_

_**And all our yesterdays have lighted fools**_

_**The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!**_

_**Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
**_

_**That struts and frets his hour upon the stage**_

_**And then is heard no more: it is a tale**_

_**Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
**_

_**Signifying nothing.**_

- William Shakespeare, Macbeth

* * *

**_Current Day_**

Irene was left alone - finally.

The last guard left. He stood outside the door after she administered the last dose of the syringe that Doctor Yáng instructed.

At least that is what they believed that she did.

In truth, she administered a reduced dose of only ten percent of the drug. She was aware of how physically dangerous it was to stop the _treatment _suddenly. Things would quickly deteriorate in that case. She needed him physically strong enough to travel. She fingered the syringe that was still in her lab jacket. She had to find a way to hide it in case she needed it when they left.

If they left.

She kept her back to the door, away from the bed as much as possible. She hoped that the short red wig and glasses, along with the dreadfully frumpy clothes, would help in not drawing attention to herself.

If she knew Moriarty at all, she knew he would probably want to have a view of the bed.

She sat on the bed next to him. Earlier, she felt angry that she was not able to do more to help him. She hoped that Mycroft's agent had been able to leave the mansion undetected and to get the vial of the drug sample and microchip to Mycroft. She hoped that her message about the fact that there was only **three** days left was clear.

The female agent was quick minded and seemed to understand.

Mycroft. She raised her eyebrows as she thought of him.

Irene sighed.

He would probably have her disappeared when he found out she was there. She could argue that she had at least been helpful in getting the drug sample and research out of the facility. She also managed to hack into a part of Morierty's personal files. That had to earn her a little grace with Mycroft.

If she lived.

Irene sighed again. She only had three days to get him out. She already decided that she would not leave without him.

She looked at her hands surprised. She never noticed that she was stroking his hair. Irene smiled. She had forgotten how soft it was.

Her mind drifted again.

Mycroft could easily have a small army covertly come in with guns blasting.

He would not; Mycroft was no fool.

He had an agent infiltrate and when he found out that Sherlock was not being physically harmed. He used the time to strategize. To work out a plan with the best possibility of his brother coming out alive and unharmed. She would have done the same.

Mycroft plans might change. He would only now find out that they gave his brother …_ treatments_.

Doctor Yáng always preferred the word_ treatment_ to the word _torture_. She hoped Mycroft would continue to act strategically and not impulsively. He was the Iceman; however, that ice seemed to melt when it came to his brother.

Holmes stirred and groaned with some movement, but his eyes were still closed. She was surprised that he was stirring at all after the long session of treatments that he had been subjected to.

That was her Sherlock, she thought, always the fighter. She smiled. That smile quickly faded.

She knew something that even Mycroft may not know yet. Moriarty would not so easily give up his toy. He would have killed Holmes rather than surrender him. She looked at Sherlock and frowned.

Holmes groaned slightly.

He became aware that he lay on the bed in his room. He woke up. He noticed that he was in silk pajama bottoms, a silk shirt, and a dressing gown.

Images jumbled in his mind. His last memory was of …of…. being in bed looking at someone in a chair. Memories, thoughts, and images flooded his mind. He held his head and groaned under the assault.

He was vaguely aware of a hand and a voice trying to soothe him. The voice and touch felt familiar, but he wasn't sure. The pain was distracting.

Conflicting thoughts warred in his mind. His thoughts were like two enemies swimming, one holding his enemy's head underwater while trying not to drown himself.

He groaned as he held his head. The battle ended when one set of images and thought floated down to his subconscious drowned and forgotten. The other set came forward in his mind, filling his thoughts.

Something wet ran down his nose. He weakly raised his hands to his face. It came away stained red. Blood started to drip from his nose.

Irene quickly put a towel to his nose and applied pressure. His shaking hands came up to assist her. She would have to wait another day until he was strong enough to run. She had a growing feeling they would need to run.

She looked at him concerned. He was not a hundred percent. Sherlock Holmes even now showed himself to be strong. He would manage with both their help. At least, that is what she told herself.

There certainly was no choice unless Mycroft managed to get a message to her.

Hopefully, they would run into the arms of a very cross Mycroft Holmes. If she knew John, he would be there, as well. She attempted to comfort herself with that thought. She shook herself mentally. There was no time for sentimental nonsense.

Irene's sharp mind focused. She thought of a plan, it might even work. She would need to speak to the agent privately without drawing suspicion to either one of them.

If she could get him far enough from the guns for Mycroft to do his magic, the nightmare would finally be all over.

He looked at her with sleepy pain filled eyes.

"Sorry Sherlock, my mind wandered a bit," She whispered.

That is when she saw it. His eyes, the same demanding, brilliant, sexy, infuriating eyes that she has looked into a thousand times.

They looked… different.

Her heart rate increased.

This was not the drug, not completely. Something else was going on. She had not had access to all of the doctor's notes and files. It was on the microchip that she gave to Agent Myers. She did not have the expertise, or time, or equipment to interpret all the data.

The bleeding had almost stopped now. She pulled the bloodied towel away as she wiped then caressed the side of his face.

She swallowed and put on a smile. She whispered and asked a question. Irene put her ear to his mouth to hear his answer.

As she was about to raise her head back up, his weak arms found her, and he asked his own question.

She looked back at him with an open mouth. His eyes had slid shut. Irene ran her hand through his hair one more time. This was not only the drugs. Her eyes stared unseeing at the wall. Her hands shook as she gently pulled the duvet over his sleeping form.

A tremor ran through her body. Her hands continued to shake. She was distressed because of what he had requested.

He wanted to see his _brother_.


	25. Chapter 25

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 25

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you for your reviews and PMs of the last post. Prothoe, Taylor501, eohippus, hJohn302, socalrose, Warm-Glow, and Jenna Yemowa. **Thank you for commenting, your support, encouragement, and points of view. It was helpful. **

**Thanks **Prothoe for going through the trouble of reposting, you made me smile.

**Thank you** ; Lunita28, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Voldemort101, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, Puky2012, Esstell, Lunita28, Burning Phoenix, bruderlein, danishprince, drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. A thousand thank yous! **

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

* * *

"_**If the wind will not serve, take to the oars**_." ~Latin Proverb

* * *

_**Current Day**_

Safe-house

Kevin Patel walked swiftly over to the computer as it came to life. His left hand put down his coffee so swiftly that splashes of brown liquid found its way to his jeans and spilled on the edge of the wooden table.

It was hot.

He ignored the slight pain.

Data flowed quickly across the blacken computer screen. Without hesitation, his hands flew across plastic keys as the clicking of the pressed keys created a beautiful rhythm of music that only he could hear.

He sat in the chair and with a push of his feet; the tall lanky young man still seated, slid to another computer and typed information as he disbursed it to multiple agencies. He arranged for an agent to covertly retrieve a chemical sample at a designated drop site. Kevin pushed in codes and symbols after he interpreted the message. It had the highest priority.

The muscles in his left arm stretched to a button that was barely within his reach. It was pushed. The updated image zoomed painfully slow, as forests and trees and clouds were scattered and became more defined. The focus adjusted slightly to a clearing and mansion on that clearing. Kevin Patel's fingers almost blurred with speed as he typed in more codes and symbols and sent the encrypted messages and images to the appropriate personnel.

He waited for a few seconds and then exhaled a breath. He looked longingly at his coffee and was about to get up and retrieve it, but was interrupted. He reminded himself to never complain about being bored again.

A call was coming in. Eyebrows were raised. He pushed the button on his earphone to activate it.

After the appropriate authentication, a female voice requested to be _patched through_. The lanky young man contorted his limbs so that he could do several tasks at one time. He pushed himself still seated back to the first computer.

He waited nervously for an answer. He decided that it was best to be succinct with this kind of a man. The line was answered on the first ring. After An ID number was given and authenticated, he spoke.

"Sir, I have an incoming call that is being transferred to you… now." He pushed a button. "I also transmitted encrypted data from a microchip that a field agent uploaded to our satellite system. Lastly Sir, you said to inform you if, a_ flea leaves a dog while sitting on the front grass_ of the targeted property"

Kevin frowned.

"Well Sir, The dog has just scratched and fleas are dropping everywhere."

* * *

A/N: Love to All


	26. Chapter 26

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 26

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you for your reviews and PMs of the last post. Guest (I could not respond back but you are appreciated), eohippus, Puky2012, Prothoe, hJohn302, Warm-Glow, and Jenna Yemowa. **I hope you enjoy the next chapters. **

**Thanks everyone **for your support.

**Thank you** ; Taylor501, socalrose, Lunita28, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Voldemort101, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, Esstell, Lunita28, Burning Phoenix, bruderlein, danishprince, drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Cyber Hugs! **

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

* * *

"_**The soul that has conceived one wickedness can nurse no good thereafter."**_ ~ SOPHOCLES, _Philoctetes_

* * *

_**Current Day**_

He looked out the window as they approached the ground. His body was pulled heavily by gravity as the plane descended. His hands gripped the sides of his seat as he placed his feet firmly to the floor of the aircraft. It was a particularly windy day and the pilot of the small aircraft adjusted to the conditions as he landed.

Mr. Moriarty would not take any delays nor wait for conditions to be more favorable. There were slight bumps as the airplane landed and slowed, then came to a stop. Moriarty stretched his shoulder as he stifled a yawn. He waited for his men to get his luggage with a bored look.

Soon he would not be bored. He pulled out his mobile and tapped the phone on his cheek thinking. A slow smile spread on his face.

Moriarty looked at his mobile and texted a message on the plane. Jim Moriarty took a moment to stretch again. He pushed more buttons and now looked at the screen.

It was about to be a long but enjoyable night. He smiled in anticipation as he turned his face to look out the window of the airplane.

* * *

"_**Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. Love still stands when all else has fallen."**_ ~ Anonymous

* * *

Doctor John Watson was doing a terrible job of pretending not to listen to Mycroft's conversation. Mycroft finally disconnected the call. He frowned.

"I knew that she was on assignment why didn't you tell me that she was involved with Sherlock rescue," John asked.

"Why, because you get off with her?" Mycroft glanced over a report.

"How…" John started to ask.

"Are you really going to insult me by asking me how I knew? Despite your attempts of being discreet, it was obvious that you and Mary Myers were involved." Mycroft turned the report in his hand to the next page, "I am not obligated to tell you every time I send one of my operatives on assignment."

John looked at him.

"Do not be concerned John," His voice softened. "She's one of my best freelance agents. She can easily take down men twice her size…" Mycroft smirked "… or do you know that already."

John's eyes narrowed as he looked at Mycroft without blinking. "Actually, I do know that Mycroft. In fact I quite enjoy it when she takes me down."

Mycroft looked up from his report now then stared strangely at John wordlessly for a moment before saying, "A little too much information, don't you think?"

"You started it," John folded his arms and glared somewhat childishly.

Both men stared in silence before John looked down sighing then looked back to Mycroft. They were both worried and probably a little irritable from the lack of sleep, John thought. He did have to admit that Mycroft however, was doing a good job hiding that fact.

"I don't care about the fact that she is there, as you pointed out she could probably kick my arse. I want the very best when it comes to Sherlock. I am however wondering what else you're keeping from me Mycroft."

They were interrupted by the click of Anthea's heels.

"Sir, Intel has come in. Agent Myers came in possession of a vial of a sample drug and a microchip. There have been complications at the mansion. Mr. Moriarty will be back in three days," Anthea said, then returned her eyes to her mobile phone screen.

"I thought the implanted agent said he wasn't to return for three weeks." John commented.

"Plans change," Mycroft said already distracted and deep in thought.

"We're not prepared to go in. We could without much difficulty invade the mansion, but not without substantial bloodshed. They would kill Sherlock before we attain him. They'll be no aid from that government, the government is not cooperative."

"The message was from Adler. She passed it on to agent Myers." Mycroft glance at John as he pushed in keys on his phone.

"You don't look surprised John." Mycroft said calmly, still texting.

"I didn't know Mycroft." John said quietly with a frown. "I do admit to the fact that I am not surprised."

"She has to be removed before Moriarty returns." Mycroft put his phone down and spoke not just to John now but Anthea and the room full of agents that had materialized.

"Sir, it would appear that they are not allowing anyone to leave the mansion. They've given them all rooms. From what I understand, it was not a request." An agent spoke that John did not know the name of.

Mycroft stared ahead and blinked rapidly then stilled as he quieted his mind. He processed the current data based on what was known of Moriarty and the information retrieved from Sherlock's USB storage device. Everyone knew not to speak until he spoke.

Mycroft blinked then opened his eyes.

"He's being deceptive," Mycroft said almost absently.

"Who, Moriarty?" John asked.

Mycroft nodded in affirmation.

"Sherlock is his one obsession. He would not be able to resist _playing _with him, even if he feels he's taking a risk in doing so, so soon. He… shall we say… get _pleasure_ from taking the risk. Also, Sherlock is no longer being treated in a… _friendly_ manner. I am afraid we can no longer delay."

Mycroft closed his eyes. "He's on his way back now, not in three days." Mycroft said more quietly, "He may already be arriving as we speak."

He got up and stood now. John noticed a rare show of irritation as it flashed on his face. It was quickly replaced with his normal icy exterior. "I need to know Thomas's ETA. Tell him that unless there is an imminent threat of life; stand down."

"Relay this information to all of the agents and operatives in place," Mycroft ordered.

"It's already been done by the analyst, Mr. Patel." Anthea said as her fingers danced across the screen."

Mycroft nodded as he looked grim.

Get the jet ready. I want to move and be on the ground personally. My movements are to be discreet. No one is to be aware that I've left the country. We have to be in and out in five days, no longer. Before the government is aware of our presence. Our plants in the government will keep our movements to a minimum and alert us to danger.

"When do we leave?" John asked.

"Packed are you?" Mycroft said frostily, "Who else is going, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson?"

He's being a smart arse, John thought to himself. He would not say it however.

"Lestrade did say to tell you that he's due holiday time. With Mrs. Hudson's hip, it may be best if she stays." He was serious about Greg.

Mycroft stared. He did not always understand sentiment, emotions, or jokes. He hoped that this was the latter, a bad joke.

"**We **don't, **I** do." The elder Holmes said finally.

John looked at him, arms folded now.

"You don't seriously think that I am taking you along." Mycroft said calmly but underneath the surface, John knew he was angry. He had become an expert at reading the Holmes brothers. He doubted anyone else could tell.

"I have military friends who are standing by. I am owed a few favors and have called them all in." John folded his arms. He did not mean for it to sound like an ultimatum, but it was.

"Is that why you're been practicing your hand-to-hand combat for over a week." John did not bother to ask how he knew.

Mycroft raised himself to his full height. He stood over him glaring openly now. That was a bit not good, John thought to himself as he held his ground.

"Really John," Mycroft voice was slightly mocking, "… how old are you? You think you're going next door to play toy soldiers with the other children? I already have to worry about Adler as an unknown factor. Do you really think that I am going to add you to the equation?"

John held his ground and refused to drop his eyes. He did have to admit to himself that Mycroft could be intimidating.

Neither said a word for a brief time.

Mycroft eyes became dangerous. John had seen him give Sherlock _the look _a few times_._ This was the first time that _the look_ was directed at him.

"You know I can stop you John." His voice lowered. "Easily."

"Yes, yes you can." John admitted quickly. "And that's what it will take to stop me. I'll be a headache, you know I will. I'll try to escape at every turn. Couldn't you watch me better if I am right next to you?"

He took Mycroft's silence as an invitation to continue. "Mycroft I am a combat experience soldier. For four years, I manage to stay alive and save the lives of many men, all the while with someone shooting and determine to kill me and my men on a daily base. I am not fragile."

Mycroft slowly smiled despite himself. John was loyal to his brother. He was also a bit of an idiot to willingly walk into hell. Whether the doctor realized it or not, that is what he would be doing. Mycroft decided to try a different approach. Of course, he already deduced that it would not work.

"John It's come to my attention that Moriarty has a desire to reacquaint himself to you. I've stopped five attempted abductions on you in this short time John. **Five.** I need you safe and as far away from that criminal as possible. There's no telling what he has in mind. If you were to be captured trying to free Sherlock…"

John nodded. Mycroft was trying to keep him safe **not** trying to keep him away from the rescue mission, but in typical Holmes tradition. He could not come out directly and say that. He used his action to convey emotions.

John nodded. He raised his eyebrow then a slow smile crept along his face. "If he wants me…"

Mycroft looked at his face and frowned. He instantly knew what he was suggesting. His frown deepened; he turned his back to everyone. He stood still and thought. "I do not say this lightly. He is clever. We may be playing right into his hands, John."

"It's a chance that I am willing to take. Sherlock would, and have done the same for me," John said easily.

"I suppose your right. You two would walk into hell for each other, hopefully, to pull the other person out." Mycroft's back was still to John. John knew the moment that Mycroft agreed to let him try to help. His shoulders stiffened. When he turned around the iceman was back.

"John, I made concession in the event that you **insisted** on coming."

Mycroft nodded. An agent brought in a briefcase. "I will not allow you to come without tracking."

"Mycroft, I doubt that if captured, they won't go through my clothing. Possible even strip me of them and all phones and devices," John said thinking.

"They won't be able to remove this one. It is under the skin. It is the size of a grain of rice. It is virtually undetectable by all but the most sensitive equipment. We'll be able to locate your position to an accuracy of forty yards, and we can enable cryptography data flow that can pick up voice wave, scramble it, then it is interpreted by a computer. In other words, in a sense, we'll be able to hear what you hear within a few yards of your body. It has its drawbacks; you will not be able to hear us. In addition, any direct blow, if it is violent enough can disable it permanently. In addition, it has a life of only two months.

"I don't plan to be gone that long if taken." John interrupted.

"No one ever plans to be gone that long John." Mycroft warned for the last time. A medical shotgun was taken out.

John did not hesitate, "Anything else that I need to know."

Mycroft sighed.

"The body breaks it down and absorbs it after three months. To prevent that it can be taken out after two."

"Alright, let's do it." John thought for a moment. "You said a direct blow can disable it. Where exactly do you plan to put it?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and looked.

"Bloody hell," John whispered.

* * *

A/N: Comments are my cookie, I like cookies. :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 27

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your reviews and PMs of the last post**. Danishprince (Cookies and tea !), Guest (I respect your views), Puky2012 (friends walk into hell for their friends), hJohn302 ( glad you laughed), Prothoe (We all needed tension released), eohippus (Hooray for Mycroft and John), Lunita28 (guardian angels rock!), Jenna Yemowa (you are appreciated), Esstell (thanks for the cookies, yum) and Warm Glow ( Thanks for your kind words). **Thank you for the conversations. :)**

**Thank you** ; Taylor501, socalrose, Warm-Glow, and Lunita28, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Voldemort101, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, Burning Phoenix, bruderlein, drpaz, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. **A thousand thank yous**! **

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

I had trouble getting on the site for a more than a day. The site is aware of the problem. I believe the issues are partially resolved. Thanks everyone. **Know that I love you all.**

Things to know. 1. **10 kilometers** is a little over 6 miles. 2. **ETA **means estimated time of arrival.

* * *

"_**Evil is a point of view."**_ ANNE RICE, _Interview with the Vampire_

* * *

His suit jacket was off, tie loosened, and his shirtsleeves rolled up. The wind whipped his normally perfectly manicured dark hair back and forth. One hand was stretched over his head as it gripped the roll bar above him in the open jeep.

He refused to wait for one of the air-conditioned enclosed all terrain vehicles he normally traveled in. He drove with three of his most loyal men now. Sebastian was the only one he trusted more, as far as Moriarty trusted anyone.

Behind sunglasses, he closed his eyes as the wind whipped past his designer shirt and cooled his skin as it simultaneously caressed his face. They were only ten kilometers away from the airfield. At the speed that they were traveling, they would arrive just pass nightfall. He smiled without opening his eyes as he prepared for his next move in the mental game of chess.

* * *

"_**A true friend walks into hell to get you out, armed with only a fire extinguisher."**_ ~ G.F.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

**London**

Mrs. Hudson sat quietly at the table. Her right hand reached reflectively for the empty cup of tea that John just finished drinking. Her fingers traced the tip of the cup. Her eyes moved upward now watching John as he double-checked to make sure that he did not forget anything. He looked around one last time then picked up his bag. He paced back and forth twice before looking at Mrs. Hudson apologetically. He seemed to have forgotten that she was in the room. She smiled knowingly.

He walked over to the table now and stood before her. He put his bag down.

"Take care of yourself Mrs. Hudson. Be careful. One of Mycroft's agents is assigned outside in the black car, and don't forget that the emergency number is on your table in the kitchen underneath the phone."

"You're not taking your gun?" Mrs. Hudson asked. She had not noticed him putting it in his jacket or on his person.

"I think I'll need a little more than my handgun." John smiled. "Mycroft has a personal weapon for me to use."

Mrs. Hudson glanced at the floor then back at John. "Well, three things love. Get Sherlock back. Don't get yourself shot. If anyone tried to stop you, shoot straight."

"Yes Mum." John smiled then looked at Mrs. Hudson intensely.

"Well then...," She smiled after she kissed John's cheek . "Off with yah."

John nodded then picked up his one piece of luggage and hurried down the stairs of 221B Baker Street. He never knew about the fact that Mrs. Hudson's smile left the moment she heard the front door shut.

He climbed into the waiting cab and it pulled away into traffic.

An agent in a black car pulled behind the cab following closely as it made its way to the airport.

Two people watched as Doctor Watson drove away in the cab. One was Mrs. Hudson as she looked out the window. The other was a man who had been following John's movements for seven days now.

Sebastian moved one hand to the passenger seat of the car. He then opened the mobile and pushed a button. "He's on the move with one visible agent following."

There was a pause as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. "Get everyone in position, be discreet," Sebastian said. His free hand easily turned the steering wheel as he pulled into the street.

All three vehicles disappeared as they blended into the moderately heavy London traffic.

* * *

_**"A champion is someone who gets up, even when he can't."**_ ~ Jack Dempsey

* * *

Three guards suddenly walked into the room. One started to undress a sleeping Homes. Irene looked shocked wondering what was happening. She stood then walked up to the guard that she knew to be in charge. She appeared to have more confidence than she felt.

"I am in charge of the test subject; I demand to know what is occurring." Holmes stirred and groaned but did not fully wake.

"We've been ordered to dress him." A dark blue Westwood suit had materialized next to the bed. "Wait!" Irene said a little louder than she meant to. To her surprise, everyone stopped and looked at her. Sherlock's eyes fluttered for a moment but they did not open. Irene put on her best professional face.

"If anything is to be done I will do it," she said in as casual a voice as she could manage. She put on a smile, "We wouldn't want all that preparation to go to waste now would we. I'm sure that your employer would not want that." One of the guards looked at his supervisor for direction.

"You have twenty minutes. Do you need someone to help you turn him?" She looked at Sherlock and tried not to frown but put what she hoped was a confident look on her face.

"Forty minutes, and no, I can manage," She said with a smile.

"Forty minutes, not a second more." The supervising guard nodded to the woman who he thought to be Doctor Yáng's assistant and walked briskly toward the door. Irene waited until the door closed.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very, wrong. Irene's mind worked quickly as she drew a conclusion.

She inhaled sharply as her head snapped to her right and she stared at Sherlock. Her mind suddenly understood with blinding clarity what had happened.

She would have to work fast.

Of course, she had very little chance of her plan succeeding she thought darkly, still she had to try.

Sherlock's shirt was already removed by the guards. Irene walked shakily over to Sherlock. She discreetly glanced out the windows. She could partially disable the alarm for the windows in ten to fifteen minutes but they would only have a total of twenty minutes before the alarm notified the guard of their escape. She might be able to escape but not dragging Sherlock along.

She would not leave him.

The guards were outside so she could not just walk to the other end of the mansion unnoticed to alert the other agent.

She knew if she were to try to escape, the next thirty minutes would be the only time to do it. "Sherlock," she whispered. He did not respond.

"Sorry," She said as she walked closer to the head of the bed. She frowned then slapped his face. "Time to wake up." She said.

Sherlock groaned as his eyes fluttered. His eyes fluttered open in surprise and what appeared to be, slight annoyance. He stared at her. The expression was so familiar she resisted the urge to laugh.

"Can you stand? I need you to stand," She grunted urgently as she pulled him up to a sitting position. He swayed in the bed. His opened eyes fluttered as he fought to concentrate. He seemed to suddenly notice her. He locked his eyes with her as he struggled to keep them from closing.

"Time to get up," Irene whispered encouragingly.

Images floated through his head, he groaned. He opened his eyes and looked at her again. The images floated downward. Something about looking at her seemed to ground him.

"Sherlock," She put her hands under his shoulder and tried to push upward. Something seemed to click in Sherlock's mind. He seemed confused but at the same time, he seemed to understand that she wanted him to stand. With a weak nod, he struggled to get up. She would not have time to dress him, but it was cool at night. He would need a shirt and shoes.

Sherlock was upright and leaning heavily on Irene as she buttoned his dress shirt. He still had his pajama bottoms on. His legs started to shake. He was beginning to lose consciousness. "Stay with me please." She whispered rubbing his cheek. For one brief moment, she saw Sherlock's determined eyes looking back at her, but just as quickly, it was gone replaced with confusion.

"Let's move slowly," she said encouragingly. His weight as he leaned more heavily was almost too much for her. She refused to give up. He, with her help, took two shaky steps as he struggled to keep his eyes on her.

Her eyes closed suddenly as she heard the door open. Her back was to the door. She opened them and locked eyes with Sherlock. She tried smiling at him as he looked sleepily at her. She grabbed his hand and squeezed gently.

She refused to look away from him even when she heard a voice behind her asking.

"Need some help?"

* * *

"_**Fortune knocks but once, but misfortune has much more patience**_." ~Author Unknown

* * *

Mycroft's mobile rang. He reached inside his vest pocket and retrieved the telephone. "Yes," Mycroft answered distractedly as he watched his staff pick up then carry his luggage toward the door to be put in the car.

"_Sir, we've not had contact with Agent Moore." A voice on the other end of the line informed Mycroft.  
_

Mycroft stopped his movement and closed his eyes.

"How long has contact been broken?" He asked as he, motioned Anthea with his free hand. She immediately pulled out her mobile and started a whispered conversation with someone on the other end of the phone line.

"_His check in time was one hour and forty two minutes ago. They never made it to the airplane."_

They're wasted no time, Mycroft thought to himself. "Activate protocol thirty, grade two surveillance."

"_Yes, Sir." The caller disconnected._

He had anticipated Doctor Watson's abduction. Still, he found it bothered him much more than he thought that it would. A determined look came on his face. He hurried to his briefcase and pulled out a report. He read it quickly and memorized the data.

"Connect me with Agent Thomas," Mycroft said rapidly as he made another call.

Holmes made two more calls.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

Safe-house

Kevin Patel stood stiffly as the silent blinking of a green light alerted him to the fact that someone was within twenty yards of the perimeter of the seemly average cottage.

There were already three _visitors_ in the downstairs conference room. The analyst's hands tapped nervously on his thighs without him noticing. He stood with a gun discreetly tucked in his side, secured only by his trouser belt. It was out of view but could be reached easily if necessary. Even with his training and regular target practice, the truth was that Kevin never shot at another human being in his life.

The person, persons, coming in had already informed the young analyst of their estimated time of arrival, their physical description, and had given the appropriate authentication codes, per protocol. Still, he felt safer with the gun close by.

Within seven minutes, two agents walked to the door. Kevin took a breath and put a plastic smile on his face as he prepared to greet them. The door opened.

Patel looked at the men as they came through the door. Both were tall. One was dark skinned with short curly hair. Patel considered the fact that the man gave the impression that he could easily use those well-developed muscles to lift then break his skinny frame in two.

His eyes now traveled to the second man. He was dressed in a tee shirt and khaki trousers. He had an air of authority and an intense gaze. Kevin considered himself tall but the man before him was taller. Kevin felt slightly intimidated by the man who looked down at him, evaluating him, but he refused to show it.

Kevin broke the silence.

"Agent Thomas, Captain Magoro, everyone is downstairs and waiting. Agent Pavlov's ETA is twenty minutes so she should be arriving soon."

Thomas said nothing; he only looked at Patel's side. To the side that Kevin had hidden his gun in the waist of his trousers. Thomas raised an amused eyebrow.

"I don't think you'll need that now," He said as he looked pointedly at Kevin's side. "Maybe you should consider shifting it slightly to your back."

Kevin's face turned red with embarrassment as he tried to remain professional. He cleared his throat. "They're downstairs, Sir. Second door to your left."

"Thank you Mr. Patel. Expect a phone call," Agent Thomas said as they started to walk away.

Mr. Patel looked as the two men disappeared through the door. He sat on the edge of the table. He sighed as he shifted his gun slightly to the back. He had to admit that it was slightly more comfortable. He no sooner sat down than the telephone rang. Kevin turned his head and frowned as he picked up his earpiece and placed it in his ear. He pushed the button on top, holding it for three seconds to activate it.

He already knew who it was. "Yes Sir."

* * *

A/N: Please comment. Remember, I appreciate you all.

I will not keep you in suspense. An update is coming in thirty hours or less.

Lots of Love.


	28. Chapter 28

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 28

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your reviews and PMs of the last post**. Socalrose, Jenna Yemowa, eohippus, Taylor501, Puky2012, dbz27, hJohn302, Prothoe, Voldemort101, and drpaz, **It makes my day to know that the stories are being read and enjoyed.**

**Thank you** ; Warm Glow, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, Warm-Glow, and Lunita28, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, Burning Phoenix, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. And all the guests .**You are appreciated.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

Things to know. 1. Just a reminder that a jumper is a sweater 2. a goatee beard is a short beard cut close to the face.

* * *

"_**We must build dikes of courage to hold back the flood of fear.**_" ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_****__**Undisclosed Location**_

Her eyes closed suddenly as she heard the door open. Her back was to the door. She opened them and locked eyes with Sherlock. She tried smiling at him as he looked sleepily at her. She grabbed his hand and squeezed gently.

She refused to look away from him even when she heard a voice behind her asking.

"Need some help?"

Irene took a deep breath as she looked into Sherlock eyes. Everything seemed to happen at once. Three bodyguards walked into the room. Two bodyguards took Sherlock and carried him to the bed as one gave an injection in his arm. She watched as his eyes looked at her then shut as he collapsed on the bed. One guard had her firmly held in place as she attempted to turn her head to look at Sherlock.

She attempted to ignore the sudden sensation of hot breath on her neck. "What did you give him?" She asked while still looking at Sherlock.

"Just something to make him sleep and, shall we say, forget about tonight." Moriarty nodded and the guard let her go and backed away. Moriarty turned her head toward him with his hand on her chin. He looked at her face and smiled as one finger hooked under the wig and pulled it off. It fell to the floor. He then took her pined dark brown hair and pulled it loose so that it suddenly fell beyond her shoulders. Next, he took off her lab jacket and let it fall to the floor.

"There better?" he asked calmly.

Irene said nothing.

"Not dead I see," Moriarty commented offhandedly, as he invaded her personal space again. "Well, we can make another try at it."

"Let him go." Irene said, as she looked him in the eyes not flinching. She would not betray the nervousness she felt. Moriarty almost seemed to be able to smell weakness, like a shark would smell blood in the water.

Moriarty snorted. He seemed to find her request funny. "Let me think about it," he said as he circled her again.

"Um, **no**." He answered with mockery.

"He's not a toy." She knew he would not listen but still she had to try.

"That's a matter of opinion." He smiled sweetly.

"Jim…" Irene was interrupted.

"You don't call. You don't write, you pretend to die. I'm afraid you don't get to call me Jim anymore. You no longer have a friend status on my Facebook page."

Jim Moriarty was silent for a minute, as he looked her up and down.

"You're a business woman Irene, a successful one. You always have an angle. Two years ago, you hired me to advise you on how to sell and blackmail information to a Mycroft Holmes. That ended badly for you didn't it." Moriarty chuckled lightly. "Now, you come here and risk your life to free his brother. For what? What's that about?"

"You **always** have an angle; somehow every transaction will benefit you. I'm rather brilliant, but I can't figure this one out. I don't like it when I can't figure things out. Tell me Irene, it'll be our secret, I promise."

"Why are you here?" He lost all mirth in his voice now.

Irene said nothing but kept her face neutral. Moriarty looked in her eyes and processed all the related events.

Moriarty look at her as understanding came to him, he chuckled then laughed unrestrained as he collapsed on the chair.

Irene said nothing but looked away from him now. She glanced discreetly at Sherlock then back at the wall.

Jim crossed his legs as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Sorry, it's been a long day. Last time I check, you two wanted to shoot each other. Maybe you still do, just using a different gun now?"

"I didn't know he had it in him, the two of you? Oh, is it the three of you? Or, is it one sided with you pining away for someone you can never have?"

Moriarty stood up. "Well as entertaining as all that was," he circled one hand in the air dramatically, "I need a few questions answered. Be a good girl and I won't hurt you." They stared in silence at each other for a moment.

He suddenly giggled, "I forgot, you do know me don't you? OK, I won't hurt you that much."

Irene glared at him.

"OK, OK. I'll hurt you a lot. **But**, would you believe, I'll delay hurting you and I'll feel regret after it's all over?" He asked with a smile.

His smile dropped. His face took on a deadly seriousness.

"In the lab, every trace of the drug was emptied out. The formula deleted from the computer file. Do you have any idea who did it?" Moriarty questioned.

Irene looked away again but said nothing.

"I see," Moriarty said. "I have a lot of his _special tea_," Moriarty looked at Sherlock as he lay in bed unmoving. "However, the final dose; I'm not foolish enough to think you gave it to him. But… you're reasonably smart; you would keep a dose just in case the sudden withdrawal was too much for his body to handle…" Moriarty stop talking and looked at her lab jacket that now lay on the floor.

In one swift moment, she moved the one-step needed before his men could reach her. A crunch sound was heard under her shoe as liquid soaked the pocket of her jacket that lay on the floor. Moriarty held up his hand to indicate that he wanted the guard that now held her slender frame tightly to back off.

Moriarty silently looked at her with deadly eyes. She swallowed hard and stiffened her body as she prepared for the worse.

* * *

**"_Distrust all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful."_**~ Friedrich Nietzche

* * *

**_Current Day_**

He looked curiously at the man asleep next to him. Stocky built, slightly muscular. He never would have guessed that fact that a fit body was hidden under the ridiculous jumper the man was wearing.

The man's blond hair was cut short and neat. The way he carried himself spoke of ex-military. Slight calluses to his right hand on several fingers told him that the man used guns on a regular base. He would have preferred to subdue him but his orders were to deliver him unharmed. The killer heard a sound and looked at the man to his right. The prisoner was starting to shift. He would be awake soon.

Sebastian looked at John Watson curiously. He saw nothing special about the man. By his reports, Holmes was willing to do anything to protect this man and Moriarty was willing to do anything to obtain him.

He could not see why.

He fingered his gun that lay in his lap as the heat of his fingers brushed against the coolness of the metal. He stared at the man who slept helplessly next to him. It was important to Jim that they arrived quickly with the doctor.

Sebastian looked at Watson again, this time with evil intent. He would have loved to _wake _the doctor up his way, but Moriarty was not to be disobeyed. The scar hidden by his precision cut goatee beard taught him that.

He smiled.

The fun that he had with that prisoner was almost worth it. The scar was superficial. It was meant to be a message not intended to damage. The light scar has been just something to add to his collection of scars.

His smile widened. As much money as he was paid; he would give himself another scar if it excited Jim.

Jim.

He only called him Jim when no one else was around.

Soon Jim would have his prize.

Sebastian looked out the window of the truck as it turned on the partially hidden road. They would continue to drive nonstop. The truck disappeared in a cloud of dust that was hidden by the darkness of night.

* * *

"_**Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac."**_ ~ Baron Lane

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Undisclosed Location  
**_

Moriarty walked up to her and looked as if he would strangle her right then. "I was going to hurt you but I've changed my mind. I think I'll let someone else do it." He glanced at the bed that Sherlock was sleeping in.

Irene did not try to hide the confused look on her face.

Moriarty invaded her personal space while he locked eyes with her. "I'm sure you glanced at the research. You read what the _subjects_ have done after their _treatments _was completed. Have you seen the pictures of some of their victims? One test subject, for example, with only an order, killed his wife that he loved then passively ate a sandwich with her body still on the floor."

Moriarty looked at Holmes. "Even without the last dose, he received enough of the drug to make him highly suggestible, to my voice only, of course. What would happen if he thought you were one of the persons responsible for hurting him and his _family_? What if I twisted that protectiveness he feels for his… _friends_, my words not his, and used it against him. What if he believed that he had to hurt, then kill you, or you would order everyone he loves to be killed. Could that make him into a killer if he felt he had no choice?"

"He wouldn't do it, not even with all the manipulation in the world." Irene spoke for the first time in minutes.

"Are you sure? Willing to bet your life on it?" Jim asked with a deadly calm. Irene said nothing.

Jim nodded to his guard to take her away. Irene swallowed her pride and turned to Moriarty.

"Jim, can I say goodbye, we both know that I'm not going to make it out of here."

Jim held up his hand to stop his guards wondering what her scheme was. "He won't even know you said anything. He won't remember you even being here tonight."

She took a breath, "Please," she said simply not used to that word leaving her lips.

Jim looked in her eyes. Was she sincere? Jim frowned and looked at her then at Sherlock, "I think you've just moved my heart with your plea." He frowned as he bit his lips and thought silently for a minute.

"Oh, no… Mistaken, just gas. I forgot I don't have a heart," he said cheerfully. With a wave of his hand, the woman was escorted out of the room. She did not resist; there was no point. Her head was held high and she walked with an air of dignity. She glanced one last time as she was escorted through the door.

* * *

_**"No one ever drowned in sweat."**_ ~ Dan Gable

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Safe-house  
**_

The conference room was abuzz with activities. Charts, maps, reports, and picture were on every free surface of the room as well as on the walls of the lower level.

Agent Thomas was talking animatedly to two of the agents in the room who were actively listening as they pulled up real time maps. Captain Magoro, Agent Pavlov, and another agent was in a different corner of the room.

Kevin returned to the room that he had just left an hour ago, after reporting that a Doctor John Watson's clothes and personal items were reported to be found in a trash bin in an alley just outside of London. He had another message to deliver.

Kevin Patel took the scene in for a few seconds before he walked up to Agent Thomas and waited to be acknowledged. After a few minutes, the agent nodded to the other two agents. One left walking briskly to the door. Kevin eyes followed the agent as he went up the stairs presumably to leave.

Thomas impatiently turned his attention to Kevin.

"Sir, the signal on John Watson has been fully activated. I thought that you would want to know of the signal's location as of four minutes ago." Kevin held the report out to Thomas with a grim look.

Thomas stared into Kevin's eyes as he took the report from his hand. He read it quietly then looked up again at Kevin.

"He'll be arriving at the mansion in two hours and fourteen minutes Sir."

This complicates things, Thomas thought to himself. "Keep an eye on that signal." Thomas said as he pulled out his mobile.

"Coffee Sir?" Kevin asked before leaving.

"Yes, black." Thomas said absently as he pushed the keys on his mobile.

Kevin turned to leave, but stopped and turned around when he heard, "Thank you Mr. Patel."

Kevin noticed that the agent was already distracted and on the mobile speaking to someone. Kevin nodded and walked away with renewed determination. It would be a long night.

"… It's as you suspected Sir, he's to arrive in less than two hours." Thomas spoke to Mycroft.

"We will need time to adjust the plan if we are able. I need to know what is going on in there." Thomas added as he glanced at the report.

"_Agent Myers?" Mycroft already knew the answer._

Thomas now looked at the photos of the mansion. "There has been no contact for twenty hours and twenty-one minutes, Sir. We assume her cover is still intact. No word on whether Adler's cover is intact."

Thomas hesitated slightly. Mycroft noticed.

"Sir, current reports indicate that…" Thomas was interrupted.

"_Moriarty has arrived." Mycroft finished for him._

"Yes Sir." Thomas said.

"_Adjust and proceed as planned Thomas," Mycroft said rapidly._

"Yes Sir," Thomas said. They both disconnected.

* * *

**"_Power is not sufficient evidence of truth_."** ~ Henry Kissinger

* * *

Jim sat in the chair looking at Holmes as he slept.

He had changed his mind. He ordered them to take away the dark blue suit. He watched as they dressed him in a black shirt and black suit with black shoes, Westwood of course.

Many hours later, he looked fascinated as the man in bed moaned then slowly stirred and woke. Holmes now laid his head back on the wooden head of the bed as he gathered his strength; His eyes finally opened. Moriarty had the fireplace lit. The orange and yellow flames danced happily across the room, first illuminating then distorting images.

The man, who was now sitting in bed as he leaned back, looked around. His blue-gray eyes blinked to adjust to the darkened room as it first traveled then came to rest on the man sitting in the chair.

"Finally awake?" Jim said cheerfully.

The man moved his legs to dangle off the side of the bed. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself as he waited for the dizziness to pass. "Yes," was his quiet reply as he turned and locked eyes with Jim Moriarty.

* * *

"_**Learn to run when feeling the pain: then push harder."~ Unknown**_

* * *

_**Current Day**_

**_Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, south of Spain_**

Mycroft placed the phone back on the wall of the aircraft. "My arrival time?" Mycroft asked the man who sat across from him on the private jet.

"Twelve hours Sir, give or take ten minutes." The man answered.

Mycroft nodded at the confirmation as he looked out the window of the airplane lost, deep in thought.

* * *

"_**I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant."**_ ~ Martin Luther King, Jr

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**London England**  
_

Mrs. Hudson looked at the phone in the kitchen as she willed it to ring. John promised to call the moment that he landed wherever it was that he was going. She sighed as she looked at her mobile phone now. John was a man of his word. Both her boys, as she referred to John and Sherlock, were.

She unenthusiastically took a sip of tea.

She heard a knock and then the door opened and closed as footsteps were heard at her door.

"It's open Greg." She recognized his footsteps. He had John's key and had promised to check on her daily.

"Mrs. H." He walked and sat down at the table as he removed his jacket. She smiled as she wordlessly pushed a cup his way. She poured tea in his cup and added a touch of cream the way he liked it.

Greg Lestrade nodded his head in thanks.

"No word on the boys?" Mrs. Hudson finally broke the silence.

"Sorry." Lestrade frowned as he took a sip. "Good," he said to Mrs. Hudson. She only smiled wordlessly.

"Have you eaten yet, I could make something. I don't know how the day got away from me." She now looked into his eyes intently.

Greg was about to say no. For Mrs. Hudson to forget to cook was unheard of. She seemed to think food and a good cuppa could keep The British Empire together.

"How about sandwiches, but only if we do it together and I help," Greg negotiated. She normally allowed no one in her kitchen to cook but as she looked in his eyes, she knew that she would allow it tonight.

"Alright love," she said. She closed her eyes and was suddenly motionless with both hands still holding her cup of tea.

"You OK Mrs. H?" Greg asked concerned.

Mrs. Hudson replied without opening her eyes. "Oh sorry, just saying a little prayer for the boys, I have a feeling they're going to need it."

Lestrade frowned and shifted in his seat but Mrs. Hudson's eyes were closed so she never knew. She also did not notice that after a slight hesitation, Greg also became still as his eyes closed.

* * *

Lots of Love


	29. Chapter 29

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 29

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your ****reviews and PMs of the last post**. Jenna Yemowa, Guest #1, BritLitChick, Guest #2, Burning Phoenix, hJohn302, Puky2012, Lanna-Nailo, Taylor501, Warm-Glow, and Voldemort101. **Thanks for the conversations. **

**Thank you** ; drpaz, Socalrose, eohippus, dbz27, Prothoe, Warm Glow, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, and Lunita28, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all guests.

**Cyber cheers.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: I did not use the real name of the Prime Minister of Spain_ (Presidente del Gobierno de España,)_ Since this is a fantasy, I did not feel comfortable doing so. Thanks.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

* * *

"_**Evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table.**_**"~**

W. H. Auden

* * *

_**Current Day**_

"Finally awake?" Jim said cheerfully.

The man moved his legs to dangle off the side of the bed. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself as he waited for the dizziness to pass.

"Yes," was his quiet reply as he turned and locked eyes with Moriarty.

Moriarty sat quietly in the plush armchair for a few minutes; it seemed as if neither men were in a hurry to speak. Four men seem to materialize in the room. They blended into the darkness as they molded themselves to the wall quietly.

Blue-gray eyes squinted as they found the men who had themselves in neat lines against the wall. His eyes traveled from the guards back to the man sitting in the chair. Moriarty's face was expressionless. His legs were crossed and he had put on a new suit. Both men had on black suits now. Sherlock wore a more modern styled black suit with an opened white shirt with no necktie. Moriarty wore a traditional suit with a white shirt, and red patterned tie.

Sherlock continued to look intently at Moriarty. Moriarty finally spoke.

"You were injured, do you remember that." Moriarty finally asked.

Holmes frowned as images and memories came to his mind, along with a headache. Yes, he **did **remember. "Yes, I was in some building. You got me out before it exploded."

"No need to say thanks," Moriarty said as he smoothly rose from his chair and buttoned his jacket.

Holmes stood as well even though somewhat on shaky legs. He held on with one hand to the tall wooden bedpost. He was trying to be discreet but no one was fooled. It was obvious that he would have lost his balance if he was not holding on.

Moriarty walked closer until his brown eyes could see the specks in the gray-blue eyes of the man standing before him.

"Two questions." Moriarty paused and tilted his head as he looked his captive up and down.

"Who am I?" Moriarty asked.

A flash of pain came along with thoughts and memories. He was more steady now and risked letting go of the bedpost as he answered.

"You're Jim. Jim Moriarty." He heard himself say.

Moriarty gave a glance and the men moved closer to Holmes as they prepared for anything.

"And who are you?" Moriarty asked.

"Did you think that I would forget?" Gray-blue eyes locked with Moriarty.

* * *

Agent Thomas and two men were in a jeep as they rode through the night. He would personally relieve the reconnaissance team that was within an assigned distance away from the mansion. He wanted to evaluate the area personally before they finalized any tactical movements.

They had a second safe house that was both closer to the mansion and the border.

They stopped in the house for half an hour to rest and check in. They crossed the border an hour ago and now drove into the dark morning. They had a few hours before the sun would rise. The goal, if possible, was to be on location before then.

Thomas opened his sleepy eyes and enjoyed the wind as it blew in his face and through his hair. He wondered what the next forty-eight hours would bring.

* * *

"_**Diplomacy is the art of letting someone have **__**your **__**way.**__**"**_ ~ Daniele Vare quotes

* * *

Mycroft sat down on the gaudy chair. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the furnishings in the room. His personal tastes were more traditional. Mycroft never considered the fact that if the situation was reversed, the Prime Minister might have thought that the British Government's office was plain and boring.

Out of politeness, he sat with a cup of tea in his hand. Two of his men stood discreetly in the background. Both Mycroft and the Prime Minister of Spain were impeccably dressed in designer suits. Mycroft took a sip as he waited for the other man to start talking again.

The plan was to use Tangier as a gateway from Morocco to Spain. The Prime Minister of Spain sat before him. They agreed on arrangements for what Mycroft and his men would need.

It was partially out of courtesy that Holmes was seated in the Prime Minister's presence. They both knew this. They had an unspoken agreement. Mycroft had looked the other way twice when Spanish covert agents came into England to illegally retrieve members of the criminal class. The resulting car chases and crashes were covered up. The media were given a false story.

Mycroft already knew that he would do whatever was necessary to retrieve his brother, but as a diplomat, he also knew with Moriarty, it was wise not to underestimate him.

"We will do as you requested Mr. Holmes. But remember, should this man enter our country while he is fleeing, we cannot get involved **officially**. There are those in the Moroccan government who are, shall we say, acquaintances of his. We will **unofficially** notify you and… um… detain him until your men arrive. Should any...incidences...occur, we will be careful to not notice."

The Prime Minister paused to take another sip of tea. Mycroft knew it was to gather his thoughts as well. "I hope you consider this when we call on your assistance."

"But of course," Mycroft said with one of his plastic smiles.

"Our airfields continue to be at your disposal," The Prime Minister said unnecessarily with a dramatic wave of his free hand.

"Please give my best regards to his Majesty." Mycroft took his last sip and put his cup back on the saucer. He discreetly nodded and his cup was removed.

"Of course Mycroft. Would you like me to send you some of this tea, it's a special blend?" The Prime Minister stood.

"That would be delightful, thank you Bernardo." Mycroft stood now as well. The Prime Minister smiled in response as Holmes held out his hand then firmly shook the Prime Minister's hand. He then excused himself and walked briskly from the room.

* * *

"_**Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. Love still stands when all else has fallen**_." ~ Anonymous"

* * *

He heard muffled voices and sounds, he felt his body gently rock back and forth in rhythm. His body fought to return to consciousness, but lost the fight. Unconsciousness wrapped its arms around him again, and clothe him in a blanket of nothingness as the world with its noise faded away.

Consciousness and unconsciousness fought a war for dominance in his body. He again fought his way to the waking world. He felt as though a thousand pins were pricking his skin as part of some diabolical torture. His eyes fluttered briefly then opened into slits as the last of the mind fog evaporated from his mind.

John now noticed the flipping of his stomach. He swallowed hard trying to resist the urge to vomit. He always hated it when they used the kind of drug that caused nausea after. He vaguely wondered when his life had changed so dramatically that he had a preference to the kind of drugs that his kidnappers used.

He fought to keep his breathing even, something told him that now was not a good time to vomit.

Watson blinked a few more times, as his military training kicked in. The drugged was long acting, he concluded. He most likely was not in London anymore. He looked around as he observed this surrounding and took note of his body's strengths and weaknesses. John looked for anything that could be used as a potential weapon if the opportunity presented itself. He suddenly still and remembered that Mycroft had put the tracker on him. He hoped that it was working after all the effort that had gone into putting it in place.

Was he in the same place as Sherlock? He hoped he was. That was the point after all.

John sighed.

He was relieved that the nausea was slowly dissipating. His harsh breaths alone broke the silence in the room until he heard a sound to his left. His eyes squinted further as they adjusted to the dim light of the room. By the outline, he could tell a man was sitting in the chair. John frowned as he processed this piece of information. He was in a room in the basement level by the look of the room. He was in a bed.

That was a new one.

He never woke up from a kidnapping in a bed before. There had been a basement once, tied to a chair another time. He was held at gunpoint in a room in an abandoned building until Sherlock rescued him the last time. Never a bed in a nice looking room. It was almost civilized.

"Enjoy your little siesta." A voice floated from the left of him.

The voice was not Moriarty as he had expected, John realized.

"It was lovely, thank you." John realized that he should not antagonize the man but Sherlock had been a bad influence. He almost smiled at the thought but luckily realized that that also was not a sensible thing to do.

The man in the chair sat forward with a puzzled look on his face. His face was now illuminated by the light more.

_"You see but you don't observe,_" a familiar sounding voice in his head commented. John wanted to tell the imaginary Sherlock and his voice to be quiet and stop rattling away in his mind until he was rescued.

John shook his head again to clear his mind. He came to the conclusion that not all of the drugs were out of his system.

He concentrated and looked at the man. Despite the goatee beard, his appearance was military. Ex-military most likely, maybe a gun for hire. His build was similar to Sherlock, about the same height but slightly shorter and slightly skinnier. He wore suits very similar to Moriarty. He almost looked as if he was trying to be Moriarty's twin.

That thought caused him to chuckle out loud. When John realized that he chuckled aloud, he stopped himself. Drugs, John thought.

"Something, funny Doctor Watson?" Sebastian asked.

_**Don't say a word**__, one part of John's brain told him. __**Answer the man**__, the Sherlock part of John's brain told him a little too sweetly. _

_John sighed again. _

_He would always side with Sherlock, even the imaginary one._

_ Bloody drug._

John smiled. "I was just wondering if you and Moriarty shopped for suits together or does he donate his old suits to you. It's cute really…"

John's head was snapped back as he was struck. He was not surprised when the stars and flashes of light came. He let out an involuntary grunt from pain.

"Now take it easy, I never said the suits weren't tailored to perfection." John added after his head cleared a bit. In the back of his mind, he realized why so many people wanted to slap Sherlock.

Sebastian raised his hand as if he wanted to hit him again but frowned and lowered it.

"You weren't supposed to hit me were you?" John asked as his tongue ran over his split lip. "You're going to get in trouble for disobeying, is that where that scar came from?" John asked conversationally.

Sebastian smiled. There was more to John Watson than he first thought. Good, he would make this more interesting.

"Yes, Jim was pretty angry that day. And yes, I probably will get in trouble but, it was worth it." Sebastian said Moriarty's name almost reverently.

John noticed. He observed him. John said nothing else. He looked at the killer in a non-threatening way and listened, hoping to get useful information. He was glad that his mind was clearing more.

Sebastian walked back over to the chair he had vacated and sat again. His white eyes and too white teeth was an eerie contrast to the dim light.

"He won't touch you," he chuckled, "Well, we know Jim's mind is changeable."

John noticed that the killer looked almost reptilian as the light and dark contrasted. He also noticed something disturbing. The familiar hint of depravity. There was almost a scent of evil that permeated the man and filled the air. He noticed the same thing in Moriarty but to a more severe degree.

Sebastian then said something that John would wonder about until the sun rose. "He will not need to touch you. There is a** special someone** who will do that..." Sebastian's smile left his face as he realized he had said too much.

Sebastian changed subject after an awkward pause. He spoke on different subjects as John listened sometimes, thought quietly to himself other times while thinking of possible escapes. He wondered where Sherlock was, and how Sherlock was getting along.

John said nothing else.

The killer did not notice or care.

The man before him was definitely a little insane or at least dancing on the very edge of it, but unfortunately brilliant.

John looked warily at the man in front of him. He appeared almost as deranged as Moriarty. Crazy attracts crazy John supposed.

His thoughts returned to Sherlock.

* * *

"_**Our memories are independent of our wills."**_ ~Richard Brinsley Sheridan

* * *

Who are you, Moriarty had asked as he now put his hands in his suit pockets. Four of the guards had managed to get even closer. Did you think that I would forget, was the answer.

Jim Moriarty was not sure if it was a sincere response or a mock from the man in front of him. They would all find out soon. It was all part of the excitement, the game.

"Humor me?" Jim's eyes narrowed.

It came floating up again. Subliminal messages raced through his mind. A word, an image came. He blinked; two words came up warring against each other then as suddenly as it came, one floated down to the subconscious, and the other floated up.

He knew the answer.

"Benedict. Benedict Moriarty," Holmes said as he looked in the eyes of the man that he believed to be his brother.

Jim Moriarty looked in Sherlock Holmes' eyes. He saw the moment that Sherlock died. He also saw the moment that Benedict was born.

Jim smiled. "Welcome back Ben."

* * *

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed. Now, you know what to do. Love and cookies to all. **Alternatively**, Love and a piece of fruit, whichever you prefer. :)


	30. Chapter 30

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 30

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. bruderlein, Puky2012, eohippus, leyapearl , Burning Phoenix, hjohn302, Kitiara88, Pencilx , MapleleafCameo , Prothoe, Warm-Glow, **Thanks for the conversations. **

**Thank you** ; Jenna Yemowa, Guest #1, BritLitChick, Guest #2, Lanna-Nailo, Taylor501, Voldemort101, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Warm Glow, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, and Lunita28, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Cyber hugs**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Sherlock will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

**Things to know.** **Tesco** is a grocery and general merchandise retailer or store.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

* * *

**"**_**Evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table.**_**"~**

W. H. Auden

* * *

_**Current Day**_

Jim Moriarty was talking to Benedict, as Sherlock thought his name to be. He was trying to fill his memories in.

Benedict gained strength as the morning progressed. It was morning but still dark outside as Jim and Ben spoke to each other. He wandered around the mansion with relative freedom. A guard followed him. It was explained to him that it was for his own safety due to his recovering from a major head trauma and past kidnapping. It was also explained that because of the injuries, he might never recover his pass memories fully.

Enough of the false memories were successfully implanted by the drug and mind manipulation procedures, to make the false memories plausible.

Moriarty by nature was meticulous with his preparation. The headaches came whenever Benedict questioned the false memories. The headaches caused the head trauma lie to be believable. He was trapped in a pit of lies. Any attempt to climb out, only cause more of the dirt from the pit's walls to fall on him burying him deeper.

The brothers, as Sherlock believed them to be, spoke for hours. Every word from Jim Moriarty solidified the implanted memories making it more believable.

Jim chose to implant his own childhood memories in Sherlock's mind during the procedure. Jim never questioned himself as to why he chose his true childhood memories to implant, as opposed to a complete fantasy.

Ben was told that he was the adopted brother of a family of four. A family with an abusive father, an older abusive brother, and a complacent mother who allowed the abuse to occur. She did and said nothing to stop the abuse. Both parents were dead and an older brother, killed in a car accident. The secret was that the entire family was killed by Jim. Benedict did not take part in the murders but helped Jim to cover it up.

He was a Cambridge graduate scientist who has been reluctant to take part in the illegal family business. Ben was kidnapped by rival criminals, tortured, and recovered by his loyal, eight-month-older big brother whom he has a sometimes-difficult relationship. The same older brother Jim who risked his own life and safety to fight the kidnappers to get him back.

Truth mixed with false implanted memories confirmed all of Moriarty's lies.

Benedict sat in the chair with his legs crossed. It was a lot to process and a bit unbelievable. He could not possibly be the kind of man that his brother Jim claimed him to be. Yet, enough of his _memories_ existed that he could not deny the papers he was given, or Jim's words. He could not deny his very own memories.

His memories had gaps. For those forgotten memories, he would have to rely on his _brother _to fill him in.

When Benedict asked why the rival criminals kidnapped him, Jim took him into their library to talk further with him.

"I faked my death but one of our rivals, a dangerous and sick man found out that I was alive. He knew how much I cared for you, so this… maniac not only kidnapped you, he..."

Jim turned away for a moment as they sat in opposite chairs by the fire. A tear came to his eye as he quickly wiped it away. Moriarty was careful to allow Holmes to see the tear before he wiped it away pretending to be embarrassed by the display of weakness. Well, Jim thought as he cleared his throat, enough time has gone by to appear to pull himself together.

"Sorry," Jim said as he again cleared his throat. "You were kidnapped, and beaten, and things were done to you that I am glad that you do not remember." Jim glanced grimly at Benedict.

Pain slammed into Sherlock's head. He felt as if someone took a hammer to his temples. He grunted from the pain. The words triggered true memories of torture as they collided with false implanted memories. Together they formed a collage of mixed up and unpleasant pictures, sights, smells, and the feel of being touched. It was an unpleasant combination of a real PTSD flashback and an implanted flash of memory induced in his mind.

Sherlock seemed to be trying not to hyperventilate as he attempted to get his heart rate and breathing under control. His eyes were shut tight and he was attempting to hide the slight shaking his body insisted against his will on carrying out.

He was to slow his breathing down. Four counts in, three counts out. Someone he trusted more than life helped him to learn this technique, after his recovery from his torture.

Who was it?

It must have been his brother, Benedict told himself as he started to calm his body and mind.

Jim discreetly glanced at his nails. They did need a manicure.

Jim watched Sherlock's distress curiously, as he attempted not to look bored. Other people's distress was boring, unless he was the cause of it of course. His father only taught him two good things in this life. The first was that other people's pain was not important. The last was to take what you want, there were no such things as boundaries or rules.

He wondered a few things as he waited for the slight drama to pause. Moriarty wondered if perhaps he should have listened and waited the three days for the programmed false memories to settle as Doctor Yáng had said. It was difficult to understand her attempts at justifying her results with all that screaming. It was her fault that the procedure did not completely take effect. It could never be his.

This was much more fun he had to admit, than a robotic Holmes that emotionlessly followed his every command without any self-thoughts. In addition, his own memories of his past, his Doctor Watson, and Mycroft Holmes were repressed.

Jim looked at Holmes. He was calming more now.

Now, what was he thinking about, Moriarty wondered. Oh yes, he was considering the fact that a haircut was probably a good idea this week. Next week, he would be busy with tortures, a few killings, and other work.

Jim fleetingly looked at Holmes again. Oh, he almost forgot, maybe he should do something comforting. What would that be exactly? Suddenly he thought he knew what to say.

"Ben, I will not allow anyone to hurt you again." When Moriarty was a child and weak, he had often wished that someone said those words to him. No one ever did.

_Benedict_ looked at Jim and said, "You…" He cleared his throat as he tried to put the embarrassing incident behind him. He took a breath then continued, "You were about to remind me of what your new scheme was that caused the person to kidnap me and reveal that you were alive. What was the big secret that was ruined?"

Jim looked at Holmes oddly. "Have some tea Ben and we'll talk."

Sherlock frowned but took a few sips of tea as he listened. He was not even sure that he wanted tea. Then why was he drinking it?

"It's his fault you know, the criminal I told you about and his right hand man who is known as the Doctor. All my enemies were gone. We had disappeared and I faked my death. Then this annoying person started digging again and discovered that I was still alive. He and his associate are the ones who tried to kill you. They did quite terrible things to you Ben. I'm glad that you don't remember."

_Benedict_ looked closely in Jim's eyes. Something was slightly off. Why couldn't he remember? Why couldn't he think properly when he was around his brother.

"You talk as if you're almost fond of this person. Why would you be if he caused you so much trouble and money?"

"He was a challenge, interesting." Moriarty said as he looked at the vaulted ceiling deep in thought.

"What happened to him?" Ben asked curiously.

"Dead, I killed him. I looked in his eyes and watched him die."

"Do you, we often look in the eyes of people we have killed, because the urge to murder is not exactly overwhelming me at the moment. In fact, the urge to stop you seems to be more prominent."

"It's one of your faults but it can be gotten over." Moriarty chuckled as he continued.

"What I was planning was so big that I had to be dead. Every major government would be after me. I couldn't have that now could I? However, they would not look for a dead man. Then this man ruined that."

He smiled. "Rome was once thought to be invincible. The centre of the world. However, it fell, but it burned. How did Rome burn, accident or arson Ben?" Moriarty now stood and walked to the fireplace as he leaned on it and looked at Holmes.

Sherlock looked away briefly thinking. "The question on **why** it burned doesn't matter to you. In your mind, it was arson or should have been. The fact that it **did** burn is what excites you."

Sherlock suddenly looked at Moriarty. "It burned. All major governments? Burning? The centre of the world, burning." Sherlock frowned. He did not like the direction of the conversation.

Understanding came to _Benedict._

"War." He said as he stared opened mouth incredulously.

"Good." Moriarty raised an eyebrow.

"Nuclear war." Sherlock wanted to be wrong.

"Very good." Moriarty stood up straight.

"You're mad." Sherlock slowly rose from the chair.

"Vicious Rumors." Moriarty smiled.

"With all the major governments in chaos simultaneously, it would be easy for someone with military backing to assert power and control." Sherlock moved closer to Moriarty as he worked out the puzzle.

"And that person would be?" Moriarty started to pace excitedly.

"You." Sherlock looked at Jim pacing and frowned, "You're completely insane."

"Already established Ben."

"You'll need armies." Sherlock reminded his _brother._

"Who says I'll need my own. I more a lover than a fighter." Moriarty willed Sherlock to work the rest of the puzzle out.

"Uh." A thought occurred to Sherlock. "There are countries that are disenfranchised with the controlling countries having power. They're willing to do anything, even follow you as their leader in order to gain a voice, to gain what they consider power and respect."

He looked at Moriarty. "What do you want to be ruler of the world," he asked as he snickered with cynicism. _Ben's_ smile left when he looked at Moriarty's face. "You can't be serious… but, you are."

Moriarty looked at Sherlock with a rare display of awe for the man figuring it out so quickly.

"You'll still need nuclear weapons and one cannot exactly walk to Tesco and order one up… But… you do not have to," he looked at him incredulously before he realized something that made his blood run cold. "Already worked that out did you. How?"

Moriarty raised his eyebrows. "You do realize that I get all tingly when you do that?"

Sherlock looked him up and down then said sincerely. "You may want to keep that to yourself. **Brother**."

"Did I mention that we were adopted?" Jim walked up and invaded his personal space.

Sherlock said nothing but watched him.

"Ok… Ok, just kidding." Moriarty leered as he raised one eyebrow as he took two steps back.

"It will never work, one man cannot have such an effect." Sherlock countered calmly.

"Hitler did Ben." Moriarty said as he walked closer to Sherlock again.

"He was stopped in the end." Sherlock felt his anger growing.

"Yes, but there was a **beautiful burn** to the world before then Ben." Moriarty said.

"You say my name quite a lot." Sherlock looked oddly at Moriarty.

"It just seems to," he rolled his tongue around in his mouth, "Roll off the tip of my tongue." He paused, "So to speak."

Sherlock looked at Jim peculiarly but continued the dialog.

"People died and were tortured. Cities were destroyed. Do you know how many people died because of Hitler's' policy?" Sherlock tried to reason.

"Approximately fifty million, some historians say as many as seventy. Hitler was not efficient, it could have been more." Moriarty smile widened.

Sherlock looked Jim in the eyes.

"I normally loathe repeating myself," Sherlock looked the man he believed to be his brother up and down and said, "But, you're quite mad, properly insane."

Sherlock turned to walk away when he heard Jim's voice.

"Don't walk away Ben," Sherlock swallowed and fought to keep walking. His headache came back. "Ben stop!" Sherlock observed his body slow then stop. Why did he stop, Sherlock wondered. He wanted to walk and keep walking until he got away from the madman, his brother or not. He stood confused with his fist clenched.

"Come back here Ben." He heard Moriarty say. Sherlock had to stiffen his body, he had to fight, he had to… to…

He found himself back at Jim's side unsure of how he got there. He blinked rapidly.

How did he get there?

Sherlock breathing increased as he stood by Jim. Something was wrong. What was wrong?

"Here, you forgot to drink your tea." Moriarty said almost tenderly.

"I don't want any tea," Sherlock ground his teeth together and managed.

"Yes, you do." Moriarty said as he leaned closer. Sherlock's hands shook as a silent war raged inside him. His conscious self was unaware of the struggle. Moriarty noticed his hands shaking and put his hands over Sherlock's hands, to give his hands the pushed it needed to bring the cup up to his mouth.

"I don't like you touching me." Sherlock's mind was twirling.

"You'll get used to it…, or not," Moriarty said smiling.

Moriarty pushed the cup up to Sherlock's lips again. He seemed unable to help himself.

He looked at Moriarty; He thought of something, there was something that he had to think about. What was it? The headache came again. "What did you do to me?" He asked with wide eyes. "Something's wrong, this is not normal."

"Drink Ben." Sherlock's eye widen in horror as he realized that he was drinking. He soon started to feel more - calm.

"You're getting over a major accident, you're not yourself Ben."

_I __**am**__ getting over a major accident. It stands to reason, that my behavior is not typical - Sherlock's mind whispered._

_Sip_

When did they sit down?

"You're being silly. I'm your brother, you trust me above all others. You take my advice."

_Jim was his brother; no matter how much brothers disagree, a brother can be trusted. - Sherlock's mind said._

_A Few Sips_

When did he get in his bed?

When did he take off his suit jacket and shoes?

_The Last Few Sips_

"Sleep Ben, and don't worry, I forgive you. After all, I've done so much for you_. _More than you could ever repay me for." Moriarty whispered in his ear as his eyes shut.

"Yes… Sorry Jim," Sherlock slurred as his mouth parted slightly and face relaxed in sleep.

Jim raised one eyelid and looked into _Ben's _eye. He allowed it to close. He would not wake until daylight. Moriarty stood over Sherlock looking, thinking, and wondering. He would be asleep for at least an hour or maybe two. It would be sunrise soon. He would wake with a better attitude. Moriarty raised an eyebrow, and then smiled. Nothing would wake him up for an hour at least, nothing.

He walked closer and leaned down slowly. His smile grew. When he was meters from Sherlock's face, his mobile phone vibrated. He took it out his pocket and read. He now had a toothy grin.

Moriarty made his choice.

He brushed his lips on Sherlock's forehead and whispered. "Goodnight brother." He gave Holmes one last look. He walked out the room. A flip of the light switch on the way out, and the lights went out.

Moriarty shut the door to Sherlock's room, blocking out all light. Sherlock slept, he was unaware that he was surrounded by darkness.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Love to all. Zacha


	31. Chapter 31

**Benedict story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 31

A disclaimer: Benedict belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. madscientistsuz , hanging in there , Burning Phoenix, Socalrose, Prothoe, eohippus, hjohn302, ShiverandShamy, Warm Glow, and Lunita28, Voldemort101, **Thanks. Love to all. **

**Thank you** ; bruderlein, Puky2012, leyapearl , hjohn302, Kitiara88, Pencilx , MapleleafCameo , Prothoe, Warm-Glow, Jenna Yemowa, Guest #1, BritLitChick, Guest #2, Lanna-Nailo, Taylor501, Voldemort101, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

Edited : I am not sure which chapter you are on now but, glad to have you hollowgirl15. To the rest of you new readers- welcome.

**Cyber blankets.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

* * *

"_**Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing. Use the pain as fuel, as a reminder **__**"**_

~August Wilson

* * *

_**14 hours Later**_

_**Current Day**_

Thomas looked warily around. He had come alone. It was too dangerous otherwise. He had been waiting for hours but still stayed.

He crouched on the forest floor. The sun had risen. It was more dangerous now. He had no choice. The beautiful but humid forest near the mansion had a covering of the greenest moss that covered the ground like a carpet. This part of the country had a dense jacket of trees unlike the majority of the country. It was not a far drive from the coast. The temperature even at the current time of the year was warm.

Mary Myer came up to Thomas. "We were worried about you." Thomas said with a smile.

Mary smiled in return. "Security has been tight. I barely made it undetected today. We must be quick." She looked around concerned as she spoke.

"Here then, there are three phones, undetectable, ten minutes call time each. Each has a onetime use then dispose of it and use the next phone. Three guns, plastic, it should not set the alarms off. Encrypted instructions are inside the bag. By the way, Holmes may have been experimented on and may be hostile." Myers quickly took it all in as she took the equipment.

"Why two guns?" She asked quickly.

"Doctor Watson has been captured. If you can get near him, and he's still physically able to use a gun, an extra gun will be valuable." Thomas said as he looked in her eyes.

"I see," Mary said grimly.

"I think Adler is in trouble, I have not seen her for over fourteen hours. I haven't seen her, Doctor Yáng, or her assistant." Mary reported.

"Any more good news?" Myers asked sarcastically. They heard the sound of footsteps.

"Yes, you have on good shoes for running, Go! I'll lead them away from you, you must get undetected back into the mansion."

"Thomas…" Mary started to protest. Thomas interrupted Myers.

"Go now!" He insisted.

"Good luck," She said and with a nod, they were off, running in opposite directions, both for their lives.

* * *

"Who are you?"

Thomas said nothing.

"Who are you?" One of the guards asked again.

"I work for Madam; she said to meet her outside." Thomas did not want them to suspect that Mycroft discovered their location.

"Did she now?" The guard smiled. I think Mr. Moriarty would want to hear about this.

* * *

_**Moment's Later**_

Moriarty was about to order him shot when his face broke into a smile. Time to test the results of the Doctor's procedure. How far could he manipulate the detective?

"Bring Benedict," it is time to see how far I can push him, Moriarty thought.

"Do you mean that you want me to bring Holmes, Sir?" Sebastian asked Moriarty. He seemed concerned that Moriarty appeared to be caught up in the fantasy. He was calling Holmes, Ben or Benedict, even when the Consultant Detective was not around. It was not like Moriarty to be sloppy in his affairs.

"I. Mean. Bring. Me. Benedict," Moriarty said as he advanced on Sebastian.

"Yes Sir," Sebastian said immediately as he left.

Moriarty decided that he would be entertained one way or another.

* * *

Benedict was in the library with a guard just outside. He was reading and put away some of his material casually. He discreetly slipped a paper in his inner jacket pocket when he heard footsteps approaching.

Sebastian was behind Benedict. Benedict ignored him as he read the science book in his hands. Sebastian finally spoke as he tried to hide his irritation.

"Mr. Moriarty wishes to see you now." Sebastian was irritated to have to even pretend to be subservient to this no one. He could not see Moriarty's fascination with the younger Holmes.

"Sir." Benedict said as he continued to read.

"Excuse me?" Sebastian said confused.

"I don't think I **will **excuse you." Benedict got up and walked to his face. This particular man irritated him. He would be careful not to turn his back on him.

"Sir, call me sir." Benedict said was a voice of steel.

Rage flashed across Sebastian's face before he was able to hide it. The soldier stood in Benedict's face and said nothing.

The ringing in his ears died down and the stars in his eyes faded as the room came back into focus.

Benedict smiled sweetly. He walked nose to nose as he looked as the slightly shorter man.

"Sir," Benedict repeated, "Or, would you like to turn the other cheek, figuratively and literally?"

Sebastian's blood seemed to be on fire. He was a killer by nature and he had to clinch his hands to keep from strangling the man.

"Sir," Sebastian said with barely contained rage. A forced smile came to his face. Soon Moriarty would get tired of this game of his. At that time, he would be the one to offer to hurt Sherlock Holmes and his house pet Watson and the woman, whoever she was.

Benedict took the soldier's reactions and analyzed them curiously. He suddenly knew this man would kill him if he had a chance. He was determined not to give him one.

"You may lead the way to Jim." Benedict said sweetly.

Sebastian body stiffened as he heard Holmes refer to Moriarty so casually. Perhaps he would have to be the one to enlighten Moriarty. He would have to show him how dangerous a game he was playing. It would have to be something major for Moriarty to give up the game and just kill or torture the annoying man as originally planned. Sebastian thought of something. He almost could not resist the urge to smile.

"You're dismissed. I'll escort Mr. Moriarty's brother to him personally." The guard only nodded once and left.

"This way Sir, I am sorry. I don't know what came over me." Sebastian led the way through the back of the house. It was quite a walk and he came to a door and walked close to the area of the house where the servants stayed.

They came to a door that was well hidden and would have been passed unnoticed if not pointed out.

Sebastian paused to tie his shoes by the door. "Sorry Sir, just a moment."

"Where does that door open to?" Benedict was told that there would be gaps in his memories after the accident, but it was odd that an entire section of the mansion was missing from his memories.

"Oh that, best not to go there…Sir," Sebastian said with just the right touch of fear in his voice.

As expected, _Benedict _ignored him. He walked up to the knob of the door and attempted to turn the handle. "It's locked," Benedict thought out loud.

"Oh course Sir; it's for your safety..." Sebastian pretended to have let a secret slip. "Um, Sir we'd better go."

Benedict stood still, his curiosity irritating him. He could not resist a puzzle. He looked at the door.

"Sir your brother will be upset with me if we take much longer." Sebastian said with a little more fear.

"Then be succinct and talk fast," Benedict suggested with one hand on his chin as he gazed at the lock.

Sebastian took a deep breath and spoke reluctantly; at least that is how he hoped that he sounded. "Your brother just captured two of the three persons who were personally responsible for your … kidnapping then torture. I don't know much about it Sir. One is the woman who pretended to be your love and lured you away to the criminal known as the doctor. He personally took part in your…um…difficulties."

False memories mixed with real memories of the year before and his torture, assaulted his mind. Benedict closed his eyes and shook slightly. He refused to fall apart around the soldier. "Give me the key." Benedict said in a low voice.

"Sir, you can't…" Sebastian started.

Benedict held Sebastian by the collar, "I believe I said, **give me the key**!" Benedict growled. "Don't bother to tell me that you do not have it, you order everyone in this place around with the exception of Moriarty."

"Sir, might I suggest a way that does not involve unpleasant things being done to me and your brother locking you away." Sebastian asked with both hands up in surrender.

"I'm listening," Benedict said with narrowed eyes.

"Later tonight, I'll leave the door unlocked and there will be no guards. She will be gagged and bound. Tomorrow night it can be his turn he'll be bound and gagged as well. I'll arrange for all the guards to be away for four hours each night, that's plenty of play time." Sebastian waited.

"Agreed," Benedict said as he let go of Sebastian and walked away.

When Sebastian's back was to Benedict, he could not help a small smile.

Idiot, he thought to himself. Tonight he would see his friends, his memory would return and Moriarty would be forced to see the foolishness of his game, or Holmes would not remember, he would kill his friends in a blind fit of anger. Moriarty would see that Benedict was out of control and change the game. Either way the nonsense would be over. He would even volunteer to do overtime and torture them personally.

Moreover, to think, the man was supposed to be a genius, not a moron. It was almost too easy, like taking candy from a baby. Sebastian's smile widened. He let his smile drop before walking through the doors.

Benedict walked outside and came into the beautiful clearing next to the mansion.

Moriarty watched as Sebastian walked up to the group. He rolled his eyes before speaking irritably. "What did you have to do Seb, give birth to him?"

"Sorry brother, it was my fault," Benedict interrupted with a contrite look.

Moriarty's attention turned to Sebastian's red cheek. "Run into something?" Moriarty asked curious.

"Yes brother, my hand. He forgot to call me Sir." Benedict said casually.

Moriarty frowned for a minute as he processed everything. He suddenly broke out into laughter.

"Better not forget to say Sir, next time," Moriarty advised.

Sebastian concentrated on showing no emotion.

"Follow me Ben." The group of three walked a short distance into the forest. The tall trees became a little more dense and light became slightly dimmer, the air cooler. He came across a man who was on his knees with two strong hands holding him in that position. One was on his left, the other on his right. Ben looked at the man on the ground. Something itched at the back of his mind. Moriarty's voice brought him back to his reality.

"This man works for our rivals. For the group that kidnapped you. I am about to shoot him but as I said before little brother, It's time for you to get your hands dirty. You need to do this, You don't want me to be disappointed in you do you," Moriarty whispered so that only they could hear.

"I think I could live with that," Benedict said quietly back.

"No you could not," Moriarty insisted.

"Do it. Do it… Now," he added.

Benedict felt the familiar war and tug as two parts of himself, warred. He curled his hands into fists to resist the urge he felt to reach for the gun.

"Take the gun, pull the trigger, you'll feel so much better once you do, it only gets easier. It did for me after my first killing." He whispered again.

"We're made for each other Benedict. We're the same you and I. Why fight, aren't you tired of fighting your nature." Moriarty whispered in Ben's ear.

"Yes," Benedict noticed himself saying.

The man on his knees eyes traveled to Holmes then to Moriarty. He did not say a word but his face showed shock. It was quickly hidden but not before Benedict noticed it.

The restrained man locked eyes with Benedict. It was as if he was trying to tell him something. Ben's head felt the familiar pain as the man looked in his eyes. He still held his gaze for a few seconds but had to look away. He was not sure why regret almost overwhelmed him.

Sebastian smiled. The man Holmes was not a killer even with all the mind manipulation in the world. Maybe Moriarty would tire of the game now.

Ben looked away from the group, from the madness to the forest. They were standing close to a gradual decline in the ground.

His mind took over; he looked around as he thought to himself and processed.

"_Atlantic cedars,__ Scientific name: __**Cedrus Atlantica, **__English name: __**Atlantic Cedar or Atlas Cedar**__ ..__. _

_This location contains various species that reached up to the sky some growing low to the grown…_

_This location contains dull colored grass…_

_The dull color of the grass is effectively contrasted by the rich and deep color green of the moss carpet the covers the majority of the ground... _

_The humidity is good for the plants growth. I would guess seven to ten percent humidity…_

_A few scattered cork trees, Oaks, junipers, and various plants scattered in between the cedars."_

A breeze blew his hair first in then out of his face. He closed his eyes for a second to feel the warm breeze and listen to the birds sing.

It really was quite a beautiful place for a murder.

Benedict opened his eyes. His eyes traveled back as he looked wordlessly at his _brother_. Moriarty looked disappointingly at Ben. Jim nodded as he sighed and one of his men aimed the gun at the man's head at point blank range.

"**Wait**," Ben said loud enough for everyone to hear. He glanced at the man on the ground. He looked him up and down, really looked. The man locked eyes with him. He looked more concerned than afraid.

Why?

Ben's hands suddenly stopped shaking as he put his mask in place and locked the world out. His body stilled. His eyes became calculating, they traveled taking everything in.

Ben made a decision.


	32. Chapter 32

**Benedict story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 32

A disclaimer: Benedict belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

*******Cyber blankets.**

**EDITED: to the guest that posted 12/13/12, Thank you for the multiple post. I am glad that you are enjoying. Your Ch 29 comment made me laugh.  
**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

_**Current Day**_

* * *

"_**The soul that has conceived one wickedness can nurse no good thereafter."**_ SOPHOCLES, _Philoctetes_

* * *

"Give me the gun," Ben ordered the guard. The guard looked briefly at his _brother _then walked the short distance to bring the gun to Ben.

"Leave him. He won't run, will you? There's no point is there and you don't strike me as a coward." He said to the man on the ground.

No answer came from the man on the ground. No one expected an answer. But, the guard walked away. Everyone's eyes were on Ben.

Benedict took up the gun and pointed at the man on the ground. Thomas looked at Benedict still but his eyes soften.

He was trying to tell him something. He was trying to say… what... **what**? Suddenly it occurred to him.

Forgive. The man was trying to say he forgave him.

Sherlock looked on as Ben's used his hands and raised them. Ben took aim at Thomas' chest.

Jim started to ask. "Do you want to go clos…"

The loud echo of a gunshot interrupted Moriarty's question and shattered the relative quiet of nature. It was heavy, intrusive, and out of place.

Agent Thomas body was slumped backward and rolled slightly down the decline of the ground from the impact of the bullet.

Moriarty guards started to walk toward the body.

"Leave him," Ben said with authority.

A glance from Moriarty confirmed the request.

He turned to Moriarty and explained, "The animals need to eat as well. Speaking on eating, unless you have someone else for me to murder, I'll be off. Tea time."

Jim smiled at him, "And, I am told that **I **am heartless."

"It's not heartless it's efficient, That whole circle of life thing," Benedict waved one hand dramatically as the other hand found his pocket, "…they that once ate…"

"…is now eaten." Moriarty finished the poem for him. "Have I created a monster?"

"You may find out soon. Brother." Benedict sighed and raised and eyebrow at Jim as he pat him on the shoulder. Jim smiled at the physical contact, he wasn't sure why. Jim laughed out loud. He was surprised that he felt happy. He had managed to break through.

Benedict walked away. "Coming Jim?" Benedict asked already a few steps away.

"You have no idea," Moriarty whispered quietly to himself. Out loud he said, "Yes Ben."

Sebastian frowned, things were not going according to his plan.

They retreated leaving the body lying on the forest floor.

Moriarty considered the fact that he might have been premature in expressing his displeasure to Doctor Yáng. Oh well, no need crying over spilled milk, as the saying went. He hummed happily, as he walked beside Ben.

* * *

Captain Magoro frowned as he lowered his binoculars. He was ordered to not give their presence away under any circumstanced.

Retrieve his body, discreetly. He pulled out his phone. He was far enough away. A voice answered with authority.

Captain Magoro took a deep breath and related everything he'd witnessed.

* * *

OUT of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

~** Invictus-** William Ernest Henley

* * *

John watched warily as Jim Moriarty strutted into the room. He was dancing and snapping his fingers as he listened to music on his mini music storage device. After a few minutes, he turned it off.

"Sorry. I LOVE that song." Jim took the earpieces out of his ears then look quietly and intently at John for a few seconds.

"Hello pet, Enjoyed the steak and wine, my personal favorites are those tiny little potatoes, Yum." Moriarty walked around smiling. "Bed soft enough? I would have given you a suit but you're not really the suit kind are you. The tee-shirt and Khaki trousers seem to scream you."

John made sure he was a good distance away from the Master Criminal. He looked warily at the four men that walked into the room. He tensed his body as he prepared to go down fighting.

Jim looked him up and down. You've been working out I see. Looks good pet.

John said nothing but followed him with his eyes as he stood a good distance away.

"Don't be shy now pet." Jim said as his expression suddenly became void of any mirth. A cold expression came across his face as he looked at him quietly for a few minutes.

"**SPEAK!" **Jim bellowed unexpectedly.

John jumped slightly at the unexpected shock of sound. John noted to himself that Moriarty had not lost the crazy. He knew it was best to cooperate. Not many people put John on edge emotionally. Moriarty did however.

"Surprised?" Moriarty asked in a suddenly calm voice.

John said casually, "I am a little surprised that I am still standing, more specifically, able to stand."

"I decided to let Sherlock do the hurting and whatever came to his mind." Moriarty replied just as casually.

Moriarty smiled, "I do mean, whatever."

John snorted before he could stop himself. "Sherlock would die twice before he hurt me."

"Yes," Jim said, as he got closer and went slightly behind him, "Sherlock would."

Jim smiled as his fingers reached to the front of John while his body was still behind Watson. Jim traced John's split lip. "Someone's been knotty, sorry about that." He said insincerely.

"What do you mean about Sherlock, what are you going on about?" John resisted the urge to look behind him although he could not stop himself from becoming tense.

"Let's not spoil the surprise," Moriarty said as he suddenly came from his back invading John's personal space and stared him in the eyes.

John frowned but stood his ground.

Moriarty stood still and stared…

_And stared…_

ONE MINUTE

_And stared…_

TWO MINUTES

"**OK enough of that!" **Moriarty yelled before he became animated and started to giggle. "I can't help myself I simply must tell someone. You ordinary people are all the same. Might as well say something to you."

"Sherlock," He sang his name, "...has already killed in cold blood. You'll be his next victim, pet…"

Moriarty looked thinking at the ceiling, "… or maybe it will be that; girlfriend, lover, stalker," Jim waved one hand dismissively, "Whatever she is to him."

"He wouldn't…" John began.

"The chill that just went down your spine is the proof that I'm telling the truth." Moriarty said with deadly seriousness.

John swallowed hard but said nothing.

Jim studied John for a moment. "I'm feeling in a generous mood. Trust me when I say that that's a RARE thing." Moriarty circled John now. He came to stop at his ear. John refused to flinch.

"Walk away." Jim whispered. "I'll let you go. You walk into that cluttered flat of yours, pack your bags and walk away. Marry a nice girl, practice medicine again. Have two-point-five kids AKA brats. You'll never see me again." Moriarty paused to give him time to speak. "You know who you're standing in front of, you know what I'm capable of."

The Doctor frowned and was quiet for a moment, thinking.

"Yes." John said quietly.

"Yes?" Moriarty repeated. It was a day for surprises.

"Yes, I'll take you up on your offer," John confirmed. "Um, what time?"

"What time for what?" Moriarty asked curiously.

"What time will Sherlock's bags be packed. I'll walk away as long as he's walking away with me." John did not answer in a mocking way, only as a matter of fact.

"You'll walk away with a man that is now a killer?"

"I'll get him into therapy," John glared.

"You'll walk away with a man that might no sooner kill you as drink tea." Moriarty looked interestedly at John.

"I'll make sure that the therapy is twice a week instead of once," John folded his arms defiantly.

John prepared himself for anything.

The fact that Moriarty simply raised an eyebrow and walked out the room made John feel more nervous, not less.

The door closed. John let out a breath that he did not realize that he was holding. John walked over to the chair and sat. He hoped that Mycroft and his team had heard the exchange. He had a feeling that if they did not rescue Sherlock soon, there might not be any Sherlock left to rescue.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Comments, I have tea, I am prepared.


	33. Chapter 33

**Benedict story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 33

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. Guest #1(John and Moriarty are cool), Nietzsches (Twice a week therapy- needed), hjohn302 (More twist ahead), Socalrose (Poor Thomas),Guest #2 (Your welcome), Prothoe ( Benedict story continues), briongloid fiodoir (Poor Thomas again), Burning Phoenix (Looking for the dark matter on the SF channel), Guest #3( Welcome back, Ben verses Sherlock continues), gemstone1234 (Please don't combust :), BritLitChick (Die twice indeed, thanks for reviewing every chapter), Jenna Yemowa ( Mango strawberry tea), and Warm Glow, (Thanks for your kind words). Added Miriza (Thanks for your detailed thoughts. It was fun to read.) **Thanks. Love and cookies to all. **

**Thank you** ; madscientistsuz , hanging in there , eohippus, hjohn302, ShiverandShamy, Lunita28, Voldemort101, bruderlein, Puky2012, leyapearl , hjohn302, Kitiara88, Pencilx , MapleleafCameo , Prothoe, Warm-Glow, Jenna Yemowa, Guest #1, BritLitChick, Guest #2, Lanna-Nailo, Taylor501, Voldemort101, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Cyber tea with or without cream.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

* * *

"_**Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall.**_**"~ **Confucius

* * *

_**Current Time  
**_

_**Current Day**_

It was fourteen hours ago that Benedict shot the man.

As he sat in his plush red striped wing chair, Moriarty looked out the window of his mansion across his acres of land. The trees were only a blacken outline against the night sky. The full moon along with the stars were out and scattered across the sky as they lit the night like a thousand fireflies, giving some light. Bach played softly in the background. It was an enjoyable day after all.

Benedict's transition was coming along better than he thought. Jim was considering the fact that he might never want to give him up. Benedict murdering the man earlier that day had brought a warm tingle inside.

And they say Christmas only comes once a year.

Moriarty heard the footsteps approaching. The steps were almost unnoticeable. The killer had learned long ago to walk silently. Jim had learned long ago to listen closely.

Jim looked at the polished mahogany wood floor as the glow from the flames of the fireplace first painted then erased orange and red images on it.

The killer walked up to him and stood just behind him. Jim looked at the dark liquid as he swirled it in the crystal wine glass. He did not acknowledge him right away, instead he took a moment to sip slowly on his private stock of red wine. He first smelled the aroma, then took a small sip and swirled it in his mouth before finally swallowing it. He smiled. Only the best.

After another minute, he sighed heavily. "This had better be important," Moriarty said without turning around or raising his voice.

Sebastian hoped that he was about to say something that would change the fate of Sherlock Holmes. Something that would end Moriarty's fascination with him.

"Benedict went behind your back and made his way in to see one of the prisoners without your permission Sir. I regret to inform you that he seems to be out of control." Sebastian managed not to smile. He even managed to look reluctant.

Moriarty calmly put down his wine glass and stood, buttoning his suit, as he looked the killer in the eyes. Moriarty's face was unreadable as he said, "Show me."

* * *

_**Four and a Half Hours Earlier.**_

Benedict made his way to the lower levels undetected. He was supposed to be in his room at that hour. As promised, his normal guard had vanished from outside his room and the pathway that he took was relatively free of anyone. The real test would be when he came to the door to the lower level.

Benedict's right hand grabbed the knob and squeezing gently turned. He slowly pushed the door in as he walked on the tips of his toes to quiet his steps. Reaching the lower level it was a small space with an empty chair. A chair that he was told a guard would normally occupy. He came to a series of doors all locked. There were five on the right and five on the left. He mentally counted until he came to the last door on the left. He turned the knob and it was unlocked.

Benedict noticed that all Sebastian said would be done, was done with one exception. She was not bound or gagged. He decided that that was better.

Irene lay on the cot, she slowly turned surprised as she heard the door open. She blinked unbelieving as she looked at the man in front of her.

Despite not eating or drinking anything for over twenty hours, and being a little weak, she quickly got up. She was suddenly in a good spirit, as she walked up to him and put her arms around him smiling.

"How did you…" Irene's words were stopped mid-speech. She looked in his eyes and did not see Sherlock. The eyes made her take her hands off of him. The eyes made her take a step back. She would not run, there was nowhere to go. Benedict advanced on her until he was towering over the smaller woman and his face was a breath away from hers. With one long arm, he closed the heavy door without taking his eyes off of her.

The room was made so that no screams could be heard.

* * *

_**One and a Half Hours Earlier**_

Sebastian walked up to the door of the small room and turned the knob. He had watched Holmes leave. He opened the door. He looked down at the woman as he thought to himself, "Interesting."

He would have to time it perfectly. The guard would be back soon. It was almost time to inform Moriarty about his little obsession's playtime activities.

* * *

_**Sweet are the uses of adversity,**_

_**Which like the toad, ugly and venomous,**_

_**Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.**_

**~William Shakespeare**

* * *

Mycroft had just received the report on the rescue operation. He heard about the incident with Thomas. Holmes just gave the final approval to go ahead with the operation, there was no turning back now, whatever the consequences.

Anthea was beside him making calls and arranging air flights on several airfields with medical services. They were prepared should something unplanned happen.

He was on his way to the designated safe-house, but would be late. Hopefully, they would have Sherlock and company before he got there. He also wanted to have a private talk with Moriarty.

Very private.

He concentrated on the reports, the data, the hard facts. That is what Mycroft had trained his mind to do. Mycroft ignored the fact that his mind kept wandering to his little brother. He also ignored the slight shake in his hands.

* * *

It was lunch time at 221A Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson just finished having tea with their midday meal. Greg had stopped by. The Detective Inspector said that he was nearby and just stopped in to say hello. Mrs. Hudson pretended to believe him.

She needed some milk. She picked up her cell and called John, Sherlock would not know where to find the milk. She frowned and put it down when she realized that he would not be answering. Neither one of them would.

She frowned as she sat down. She bit her lips, as she sighed and shook her head in self-mock for her mistake.

"Well," she thought aloud, "More tea would be nice. Another prayer wouldn't hurt either."

For the second time that day, she closed her eyes.

* * *

They came from many places. Some came in from other countries , some came from Spain entering Morocco's Tangier as planned. Tangier would be the gateway from Morocco to Spain.

Agents crossed the borders in small groups with the goal of being discreet, so that they were available should the worst occur. They would be close enough to Spain's border to slip out the country of Morocco as quickly as they had slipped in.

Several safe-houses on the border of Spain and friendly countries were filled with people on standby with others planning on arriving soon. The activity was not as unnoticed as originally intended. Everything had been moved up by forty-three hours because of the data received by the transmitter on John Watson's body and the event with Agent Thomas.

Open and closed Jeeps, Land Rovers, and various all-terrain vehicles drove through the night. They did not wait for the full force of the other operatives and soldiers to arrive, but they would travel ahead to the designated site by the cover of night. As they rode through the darkness, electronic data and updates, instructions and directions, were forwarded as electronic transmissions.

The vehicle contained four men. Two were asleep, the driver and the man in the front were awake. The cool night air blew into the open Jeep as he looked at the stars. With the full moon, there would be plenty of light for movement. They would have to hide their vehicles a distance off the road and move through the forest to avoid detection.

There had been a change. He was now to report to a Captain Magoro. The soldier who sat in the front seat look curiously as four pictures came on screen. He studied them and their information under the picture. One was of a short hair blonde man, the other of a slender brown haired agent. The third an attractive brown haired woman. The last was a pale-skinned man with dark and curly hair.

The soldier studied the pictures curiously, as the truck disappeared on the partially hidden road on a moonlit night.

* * *

Moriarty opened the door to the room that Irene Adler was being kept in. He walked over to her. Her back was turned to him and she was lying on a cot in the corner. Jim sat on the corner of the bed as she blinked then opened her eyes.

Sebastian did not enter but stood at the door to the room, watching. "Water, a damp towel." Moriarty instructed Sebastian. Sebastian frowned confused but retreated and came back with bottle water and the towel. Moriarty wordlessly removed his suit jacket, laid it on the bed, and rolled up his sleeves, as he wiped her face and cleaned her up.

Moriarty had memories of his childhood. Whenever his father was finished with him. He would always clean Jim up and change him into fresh clothes. He would even speak to him gently. His father might have even been kind to him, as kind as he ever got, for a day, maybe two. That is before Jim's father began a personal hell of his own making for the young child again. It always began again.

Moriarty held Irene's head up as she shakily held the bottle to her lips. He ordered fresh clothes for her. Moriarty noticed the bruises and fingerprints including one particularly nasty cut on her abdomen. Jim cleaned and dressed it. He had a lot of practice as a child dressing his own wounds. Moriarty gently changed her as she passively allowed it and looked on warily.

Irene watched confused as her eyes traveled to Jim, then the wall, then Sebastian. Her eyes did not stay on Sebastian long.

"I was once fond of you, you had such promise. Sherlock ruined you and now look what he did, he abandoned you."

Adler knew Jim's moods, she knew that he wanted a conversation with her. So be it.

"Benedict is just starting to embrace his evil, I remember when I first did. It will only get easier from now on. It did for me." He brushed her hair as he looked at her. He rarely saw her without makeup on. She looked almost innocent.

"Better now? " Moriarty said quietly. Adler looked away as an embarrassing tear fell. She grimaced as she moved to wipe it away. This gentle and tender Jim was more cruel because he reminded her of what she had just endured. She knew him well enough to know that that was his intention.

"You said, '_He wouldn't do it, not even with all the manipulation in the world.'_ You spoke those words to me, do you remember?"

"Yes," She replied weakly as she looked him in the eyes.

"Who did this to you?" Moriarty asked. The slightly mocking tone returned.

Irene frowned as she looked at both men in the room but said nothing.

"What was done to you?" Again, she said nothing.

"Still loyal, are we?" Jim wondered aloud.

"Yes," Irene said out loud and without hesitation.

Moriarty looked at the woman he once considered the most intelligent and cunning in the world. He shook his head in disappointment as he looked in her eyes. "Sherlock has weakened you, I'm glad he's dead. Benedict is more fun, don't you think?" Jim spoke more to himself than to anyone in the room.

"What inspires such loyalty out of people for Holmes?" Jim asked himself. There was no answer. None was expected.

Jim rolled his shirt sleeves back down, picked up his jacket and put it on, then buttoned it slowly. He then leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Next time I doubt he will be so… gentle."

He looked at her, "Give her food, every condemned man should have a last meal."

He leaned down and gently kissed her on the bruised part of her split lip. "Such a waste," he whispered for her ears only, "Remember your loyalty when he squeezes that lovely neck of yours, while you gasp your last breath."

He walked out of the room then, not looking back. Irene watched him go. Sebastian lingered behind. He looked at her as she returned his stare. She refused to lower her eyes. The last thing she saw was Sebastian's smile as he closed the door.

* * *

Agents and soldiers crouched on the forest floor. The sun would rise in a little over two hours. With the increasing light, danger grew. Captain Magoro spoke with his electronic communication device close to his lips. He put a voice collar on his neck. Next, he put his ear piece in and tested it, then he pocketed the larger device.

"Almost everyone is in place. What do you want us to do now?" The captain asked pushing the button on his neck collar. He released the button and listen as a voice spoke in his earpiece.

"_Wait for the call. If it doesn't come in eighty-five minutes exactly give the call to enter." The voice on the other end of the line said in a rushed tone. _

Understood," Captain Magoro, said as he ended the communication. The captain ran while crouching as he came to a group of four men. They huddled as he gave instructions.

"Time to plant our little packages, two on each corner of the mansion," The captain said as he looked through the blueprint of the building.

One of the soldiers smiled. "Yes Sir."

* * *

_**Current Day and Time**_

"Sir," Sebastian said as he walked with Moriarty. "I hesitate to mention it, but Benedict seems to be out of control. I can take him, and with your permission, investigate further, get the truth out of him."

"Get a sense of humor Seb. It's amusing to see the normally repressed man so, shockingly, shall we say, passionate," Moriarty thought for a moment as his eyes met the ceiling, "…maybe, reluctantly violent is a better word. **Anyway**, let the man have some fun. I want him slightly out of control, it's much more interesting that way." Moriarty stopped walking.

"No one touches him," Moriarty laugh quietly, "Except me of course, I'm quite looking forward to the touching."

All mirth instantly left Moriarty's eyes, as he looked Sebastian up and down. "Not touching him means you Sebastian, I hope we understand each other." His smile was like a snake. "Let's see if he's awake shall we, I think I need a private talk."

"Of course Mr. Moriarty," Sebastian said. He thought privately to himself... This definitely was not going according to his plans.


	34. Chapter 34

**Benedict story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 34

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**.

**Cyber tea with or without cream.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

* * *

"_**Memory is not so brilliant as hope, but it is more beautiful, and a thousand times more true." **_

_George Denison Prentice_

* * *

John's eyes were closed. His mottled mind heard steps. He quickly became alert as a hand came down on his mouth. He was about to reflectively strike out when a voice stopped him. "Is that any way to treat your rescuer?" Mary Myers asked with a twinkle in her eyes. John fully awake now sat up.

"The guards?" John asked.

"One was knocked out, the other was not here. We must move quickly, he can return at any time," Mary said as she handed him the gun.

John took the gun along with a stolen kiss. "Thanks Mary."

"You're welcome love." She said with a smile. He got up and quickly moved.

Mary looked John up and down with her gun extended toward the door. She noticed the bruise on his face. "Are you alright?"

"Just a little roughing up." John said as he walked to the door. He extended his gun to join hers. They both froze as they heard running coming in their direction.

"We could use a little help," John said to the air.

"You have a chip in you?" Mary asked.

"Yes," John replied. They now stopped talking as they nodded to each other and took opposite sides of the door.

Everything happened suddenly.

Fists flew and grunts of pain were heard. There was a popping sound followed by the sound of a bullet striking flesh. John's gun dropped. At the same time, the first guard to arrive gun slid across the ground and slammed into the wall. The first guard howled in pain. He grabbed his leg as he rolled on the ground.

Three guards were left.

Guard one was wrestling with John as the two remaining guards attacked Mary.

Guard two grabbed Mary, She kicked guard two in the groin and elbowed guard three. Guard two fell to the ground cursing. Another kick to guard two's head sent him into unconsciousness.

Two guards left.

She could not enjoy the victory as a hand came around her throat. The guard fell away when John hit him with the end of the gun that he had recovered from the ground.

One guard left.

That guard chose that unguarded moment of John's, to punch him in the face. John noticed him out of the corner of his eye and ducked but not enough. The guard's fist grazed the side of John's chin. This knocked him back. John staggered a few steps.

Mary ran toward John to help as the last guard threw another punch as he advanced on Watson. Before Mary could reach him, John duck completely this time and swept the guards leg out from under him. The guard's body was off balanced as he swung. A sicken crack was heard as the last guard's head met the concrete floor.

Mary raised an eyebrow as they both caught their breath. "You've been practicing."

"Yes, a bit," John confirmed. Mary smiled as she assessed the situation.

Mary quickly took out her phone, she call on one as she entered a code on the other.

"I need back up, repeat… I need backup now. Surrounded by hostels. Guards, heavily armed on all four levels. I have recovered Watson. Adler and Holmes is still on the premises. The alarm has not sounded yet, come in quiet if you can." Myers listen to the other line for a moment then disconnected.

John listened impatiently as adrenaline took over. He felt the familiar rush. He felt as if he would jump out of his skin if he did not start to move soon.

"This phone is to both communicate, ten minutes undetected. And ," She pointed to an orange button, "… this button is to be pushed if you should need a dramatic distraction, use it wisely."

"What is it?" John asked as he took the phone.

"This is from Mycroft," Mary reminded him with one raised eyebrow.

John smiled as he put the phone in his pocket.

"Don't get that beautiful arse of yours shot," John said with a smile but his eyes were serious.

"Watch yourself as well… third bedroom on the southwest side of the house is his, ground level. Try the library second floor northeast corner. I'll look in the other possible locations." Mary said with equally serious eyes.

With a quick kiss and a nod, they were both off running.

* * *

Moriarty's guard was walking close to the parameter of the forest. He looked around as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes to smoke.

A moment later his unseeing eyes lay on the carpet of moss as soldiers quietly stepped around him. On opposite sides of the mansion, three other guards were meeting similar fates.

Several snipers lay on the forest floor in concealed positions.

An agent raised his hand silently, and feet in cadence noiselessly pounded the soft ground.

A group of soldiers made their way quietly as they slowly overtook the mansion

* * *

.

"_**A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor."**_

Alexander Smith

* * *

Moriarty was walking on his way to Benedict when he ran into John Watson. Sebastian froze as he noticed the gun that was pointed at Moriarty's chest.

Moriarty turned his head slightly as he process the fact that not only was Doctor Watson loose in HIS home. One of many granted. But, the man was actually pointing a gun at him. No one except Sherlock ever pointed a gun at him. He did not know whether to shoot him or be impressed.

At that moment, gunfire was heard, Sebastian's phone sounded a repetitive chirping that indicated a breach. Sebastian pushed a button. There was supposed to be a picture of the outside perimeters of the mansion. Instead, only a snowy screen was seen. Someone had gotten to the computer system and jammed it. Sebastian could not tell what was happening on the outer edge of the mansion.

More gunfire sounded now.

Moriarty smiled to himself, "Mycroft Holmes?" He asked John ignoring Sebastian's growing apprehension. He had underestimated the man's reach. He admitted to himself that that was a mistake with Mycroft. He would never admit it out loud.

"Sherlock Holmes, I've come to retrieve him," John said without his gun's aim leaving Moriarty's chest.

Another soldier walked in. He looked at the intruder with surprise, as he quickly pulled his gun aiming at John.

Sebastian whispered to Moriarty, "Sir, we're blind. I don't know what's happening outside. There's a breach. It's time for you to retreat. You have to use the tunnel and emergency escape."

"Go erase the computer files, and get Benedict. I'm right behind you. Meet you at the Land Rover." Moriarty ordered.

"Sir," he said incredulously, "I couldn't leave you," Sebastian was interrupted.

"Go, I'm right behind." Moriarty said calmly.

Sebastian grunted as he gave his gun over to Moriarty and with a hate filled look at John, left the room running. John frowned as he watched Moriarty put the gun in his belt and look at him.

"Sorry about that. STUFF, to take care of," Moriarty waved his hand in the air dramatically. "Now, where were we pet."

Gunfire randomly sounded. "Oops, that was closer," Moriarty, giggled. "You have my full attention now, promise. You were talking about Benedict."

"I've come for **Sherlock**. Where. Is. He?" John said as he started to get irritated.

"Isn't that adorable, the pet's come for his master." Moriarty said as he glared at John Watson. All humor was gone.

Two other guards entered the room. Their guns were on John. He ignored them, with the exception of giving a warning with a shake of his head, when one tried to come close and slip behind him. John's gun was on Moriarty. If he went down at least the Monster would die too.

"That's where you got it wrong, that's what you'll never understand." John said unflinching as one hand now held the gun with a straight arm. One hand held the phone up so Moriarty could see. Moriarty eyed it curiously but said nothing.

"Am I to guess what that mean, PET?" Moriarty asked aggravated.

"It's not a pet that's come for his master. It's a friend that's come for his friend." John smiled as an explosion rocked the mansion behind him. One hand held the gun now, the other held the phone in his hand.

The men in the room instinctively dropped to the ground. There was another explosion. The room shook. Moriarty and John did not drop.

John and Moriarty locked eyes. Moriarty seemed to look right into John as irritation and hate radiated from his dark soul.

John's eyes widen as he suddenly looked beyond Moriarty to the door at his back. Moriarty knew instantly who it was. John still pointed a gun at Moriarty. Moriarty's men pointed a gun at John. Moriarty walked up to John until the gun was at point blank range with his stomach.

Moriarty smiled evilly and whispered so that only John could hear. "Say one word to him, say anything at all. And that man over there will shoot your Sherlock."

John looked in the Master Criminal's eyes as he said incredulously, "You went through all this preparation and you would do that?"

"I'm a bit unpredictable, especially with my house burning around me, call me old fashion but, I consider that rude." Moriarty smiled. "Now take me prisoner." Before John could process what was happening, Moriarty turned around with a worried look as he stared at a very angry Benedict.

"Let Benedict go and I'll come with you willingly." Moriarty said as his acting included a grim look.

Benedict advanced on the two men. One of Moriarty's men stayed slightly behind, had his gun out, and pointed. However, the angle was wrong. It was aimed at Sherlock. John cursed to himself.

Benedict's gun was aimed at John's chest. "Let him go, now." Ben demanded.

John would have smiled with relief under any other circumstances. He almost took a step toward him until he saw the look in Sherlock's eyes.

John nodded and with a look of satisfaction pushed Moriarty toward him, Moriarty almost tripped but caught his balance on time.

"Go brother, I'll take care of him and be right behind you," Benedict said.

"Shoot him Benedict." Moriarty instructed.

Benedict nodded as he felt a strong urge to do just that. He was not sure why a part of him was fighting the urge.

John looked confused from Moriarty to Sherlock, but dare to say nothing as he eyed the guard still behind Sherlock with a gun on him.

Jim gave Benedict's arm a squeeze as he walked away. Once his body was behind Sherlock's, he gave an evil smile and wave to John as he walked toward the door.

"Make sure he kills Watson, Jim said quietly so that only the one guard left in the room could hear. "Shoot Watson yourself if he does not then bring Benedict along to the backup location. If Benedict does not want to come, do not give him a choice."

"Yes Sir," The guard said without taking his eyes or gun off the two men. Moriarty walked more quickly as he heard gunfire increasing.

Sherlock walked close to him and stared. "Why are you insistent on killing us…?"

Sherlock stopped and stared. "You. Who are you?"

John opened then closed his mouth when he saw the guard behind him walked closer to Sherlock.

John looked in his eyes. He used to be able to communicate with Sherlock without words. Maybe Benedict would be the same. John was about to lower his gun when he saw the guard smile and shake no silently with his head.

John brought the gun back up.

"Your name," Sherlock said more loudly.

John stared grimly but said nothing.

"**Your name!"** Sherlock yelled.

John looked in Sherlock's eyes and attempted to communicate.

Who was he, Benedict wondered as his head pounded. Was he being silly not shooting him? What was holding him back?

**What **was holding him back?

The man before him was the man his brother had warned him about. Images floated to his mind as a sharp shot of pain seemed to race through his skull.

He blinked as he saw images of the man before him torturing him, touching him, and laughing at him. Warning him that he would do the same to his family because he was too weak to stop him. He did not notice that his fingers tightened around the trigger of the gun.

He did not agree with all of his brother's methods, but this man deserved to die, a voice inside of him said.

Kill him and you'll be free. Kill him or he'll kill those you love. You have no choice.

Shoot.

Shoot him.

"_No." His ears heard someone say._

**Shoot him now**! The voice floated inside his head said more urgently.

"_**No!"**__ He heard again and frowned when he realized that the voice was his own anguished words._

His head and the heart that he kept denying that he had were in battle. He always claimed to be a man of logic, of facts. The fact was that the man in front of him would kill if he were not stopped now. Why did he feel like he was about to cut a piece of himself apart? Why did he feel like he would die with that man, or like the man's last breath would be his own?

Pain again shot through him when he tried to think deeper. Blood ran down his nose. He ignored it and kept his now shaking hands on the gun. His brother said that he had to get his hands dirty sometime, didn't he?

He looked into the man before him eyes for the first time, really looked. The familiar pain increased. He winced as he tried not to show any weakness. Two names warred in his mind. One brought comfort, the other fear. One floated up and stayed the other floated away.

His vision came back into focus as a grim look came on his face. His attention was violently pulled in front of him. He suddenly raised his eyes and the gun, as he looked in the Doctor's widened eyes.

The sound of gunfire broke the silence.

* * *

A/N: I will not leave you in suspense long. A bit more in 30 hours or less.


	35. Chapter 35

**Benedict story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 35

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. Miriza, madscientistsuz , Socalrose , hjohn302 , gemstone1234 , hanging in there , and Taylor501 (thanks for commenting on each chapter,) **Thanks. Love and cookies to all. **

**Thank you** ; BritLitChick , Guest #3, Burning Phoenix, Jenna Yemowa , Warm Glow, Guest #1, Nietzsches , Guest #2 , hanging in there , eohippus, hjohn302, ShiverandShamy, Lunita28, Voldemort101, bruderlein, Prothoe, briongloid fiodoir, Puky2012, leyapearl , hjohn302, Kitiara88, Pencilx , MapleleafCameo , Prothoe, Warm-Glow, Jenna Yemowa, , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, Voldemort101, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Cyber blankets.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

**For the "**No WAY! You didn't!"; "…roller coaster...creeping up the steep slope…"; "30 hours is TOO. LONG."; "evil cliffie"; "stomach is in knots" ; and "evil Moriarty", this is for you.

I kept my promise gemstone1234. (Smile)

Something to hold you over. Love to you all.

* * *

**"**_**Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds."**_

**~ George Elliot**

* * *

_**Current Time**_

_**Current Day**_

Benedict had made his choice. The fired gun fell from his hand as he collapsed to the ground in pain.

Benedict's body buckled to the ground as he held his head. This was the most intense that the pain had been. It was debilitating.

Two guards lay dead in the room. There was one threat, a guard that was behind John, and about to shoot him; he was shot by Benedict. The other was behind Benedict; he was shot by John simultaneously.

John ran to Benedict. John gently raised Benedict's head and cradled it in his lap. He glanced around nervously.

What now?

They had to move but Benedict was in no condition at the moment. That was if he was even willing to come with him. He had not shot him, John conceded that that , at least, was a start.

John held Benedict as Ben looked up at him through pain-filled eyes. The pain was the cost of his disobedience and his questioning mind. His nose bled on his shirt ruining it. Too bad, it was a nice shirt. John frowned as he looked down at Sherlock. One hand still cradling his head, the other hand had the gun Myers had given him as he looked from Sherlock to the two doors in the room nervously.

The Doctor, after not seeing anyone, sighed and took a moment to concentrate on getting Sherlock to his feet. They had to start moving; it would not take long for someone to figure out that Benedict had not followed orders.

"John," John now looked into Sherlock's eyes with a concerned smile. "My name is John," he said again looking at Benedict with concern.

Benedict now blinked his eyes as he tried to focus on the man who held his head in his lap. He was glad to discover that the man had not shot him yet, apparently, he had made the right decision.

"You didn't shoot me?" John said as he applied slight pressure to Sherlock's nose.

"Obviously!" Ben said somewhat nasally as his own hands took over holding his nose. He meant to roll his eyes but with the pain, it came out as a facial grimace instead.

"I didn't shoot you, you didn't shoot me. Let's move on, shall we." Benedict realized that his words sounded sarcastic. He did not mean for them to, his words tended to sound sarcastic sometimes.

Ben looked at the man for his reaction. Instead of anger, the comment made the man smile.

John suddenly free hands did not notice that he subconsciously ran his finger through Sherlock's curly hair as he looked with concern. A part of John needed to touch his friend to convince himself that he was real, and to comfort him. Benedict noticed the intimate gesture curiously but did not comment directly on it.

Benedict took his hand away from his nose as he studied the man. His bleeding was slowing now. His headache was still present but bearable.

"We know each other." Benedict stated factually, as he took a paper out of his inner suit pocket.

John frowned as he took it and scanned the simple document. Benedict had been keeping a journal of the events, and his reaction to events and persons in the mansion, including his _brother._ What caught John's attention was that scribble randomly throughout the document was one word over and over again. It was on the corner. In-between his log of events. The word was "**John**".

There was "John is coming." "You trust John with your life." "Listen to John." "John is the key" "John would never hurt you" and several times it was written and underlined. "Do **NOT** shoot John"

John raised his eyebrows and smiled, "A bit obsessed are we?"

"A bit." Benedict admitted. He looked into John's eyes and suddenly felt safe for the first time since waking up from his injuries, despite the gunfire around them.

Gunfire.

Both men's attentions were drawn back to the present.

"I do not want my brother hurt but I have to get away from him, he's quite mad I'm afraid. He's had me drugged for some reason." Benedict attempted to sit up now as John helped him. The slowed bleeding now stopped. The headache was dissipating.

John looked at Benedict as he helped him to stand. "He's not your broth…" John stopped speaking abruptly as gunfire sounded closer now.

"I'll explain everything later, right now…" John started to say.

"… We need to go," Benedict finished for him.

"Can you walk?"

"I'll do better, I think that running is appropriate," Benedict said as he took a few steps.

John grunted a nod as he looked around scanning. "By the way, thank you for not shooting me."

"The day is young," Benedict said.

John glanced at him, "Should I be worried?"

"No," Benedict said sincerely before smirking.

John looked in his eyes and saw sincerity there, and for a fleeting moment, he saw Sherlock's eyes looking back at him, then they were gone. He missed those eyes.

John smiled and said beneath his breath, "Smart arse…," John looked his friend up and down, "…both versions."

Benedict smiled as he led the way out with John running behind him. He stopped suddenly and frowned. "There is a woman, I have to help her."

John looked at Benedict's list, sure enough it said, "Help the woman. She's in trouble."

"Adler?"

"Is that her name?" Benedict asked.

"Where is she, this place goes on for days and in case you forgot, people shooting." John reminded him.

"I think I know where she might be, at least where she was last night." Follow me, Benedict said. John thought that it was like old times, trying to keep up with his long legs.

* * *

"_**Only your real friends tell you when your face is dirty**_."~ Sicilian Proverb

* * *

Irene leaned against the wall. Something was happening in the mansion. Most of the guards have left. A series of gunfights were occurring. She hoped that Sherlock was safe. Mycroft and his full wrath apparently had arrived.

She heard running then a struggle outside her door to the same lab room.

She pushed her body up against the wall. She would be very happy or dead in the next few minutes, she concluded.

She heard keys in the lock of the door, she heard the key turn, and then she looked at the faces before her.

She smiled.

John ran up to her and took in her battered appearance. Benedict approached slower and almost cautiously.

"Dear God, what happened to you?" John asked as the doctor in him assessed her quickly. Her jaw was bruised and her lip split.

Adler looked at Benedict wordlessly.

John looked at Benedict with his mouth opened, "Tell me, you didn't do this."

"I came with every intention of doing worse; I raise my hand for the first strike, but… I couldn't."

"It was one part in me driving me to violence; it was almost like a drug coursing through my system, bemoaning more ... more. There was another part that fought against the violent part. It was quite disconcerting."

John frowned as he processed his friend's words, "What stopped you?" Adler asked the question John wanted to." Why did you kiss me if you did not remember?"

"You came to beat the tar out of her and you kissed her instead?" John asked incredulously.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Benedict said quietly as he cleared his throat. "We better get going. Can you walk?"

Adler rose and grimaced. Benedict rushed over to her now as he held her in place.

"Irene?" John questioned troubled.

"Where else are you hurt?" Benedict asked concerned. He moved her long hair aside as he noticed a bruise in the form of a fingerprint.

She grimaced as she moved his hand off her neck. She moved her hair to cover her neck again.

"Later loves, I'm just sore." She turned her eyes to Benedict as she said to Ben, "By the way, you're late." Adler said sweetly as John helped her to start moving.

"You knew I would be back for you?" Benedict asked doubtfully.

"Yes" Adler said as a matter of fact.

"You could not possibly." Benedict replied slightly annoyed.

"But here you are," She smirked.

"Are you always so irritating or just during a rescue?" Benedict wondered out loud.

"Always and much more love, this is me nice." Irene said as John helped her to walk and Benedict looked through the opened door. A nod of his head and John and Irene followed behind as they slowly made their way up the hallway.

"Indeed." Benedict sighed realizing that this was one discussion he would not win.

"If Sher… Benedict did not do this to you, who did." John started to ask.

"Isn't it obvious? It's Sebastian. The same man that tried to manipulate me into torturing then killing you both." Benedict said sarcastically.

"Of course, how silly of me? It's hard for us the common masses to keep up." John rolled his eyes. Sherlock was certainly still in there and he seemed to be taking control back bit by bit, whether Benedict was aware or not.

Benedict and John had fallen into their familiar banter. Neither man noticed. Irene did as her smile widened.

"What?" Both men asked simultaneously when they noticed her look. They first looked at her then each other. "Nothing," she replied.

Irene's eyes suddenly widened. She involuntarily hissed from pain as her hand flew to her abdomen. A small groan followed before she could stop it.

"Wait," Benedict said as he looked at John. John stood and leaned her against the wall. Benedict looked her in the eyes and his hands went to her shirt to lift it. Adler's hand came to hold his hand.

"We don't have time," She started to say. Benedict eyes pierced her eye and for a moment, a brief moment, she saw Sherlock. For that reason, she sighed and let go. Benedict raised her shirt. Both men looked. John gasped.

Her body was bruised so badly there were more bruises than skin showing. Benedict looked confused at the wound dressing. It had the outline of blood showing through. His long fingers easily peeled the edge of the dressing back. Anger burned through him as he looked at the nasty wound. That anger was directed at one Sebastian Moran.

"It'll need stitches." John's voice floated from behind him.

"I assume I was correct when I concluded who did this to you." Benedict asked.

Irene said nothing.

"Does... the rest of your body look like this?" Ben asked. Irene looked at the wall and bit her split lip but said nothing.

"Sherlock," John recognized the look.

Benedict said nothing.

"Benedict," John tried again.

Benedict now looked with a false calm at him but his eyes burned. He pressed the wound dressing close again. The last time John saw that look, Sherlock had thrown an agent out of a window for hurting Mrs. Hudson.

"You'll be OK," Benedict said to her before turning to John. "I assume that those firing those guns are your men. Take her to them. I need to speak to someone." Benedict said through gritted teeth. This time he would not stop at slapping Sebastian. Benedict turned to go.

John grabbed the edge of Ben's shirtsleeve. "No!" He said firmly as he looked Benedict in the eyes.

Benedict looked at John's hands, then in his eyes. "Let. Me. Go." Benedict said with an eerie calm.

"No." John said as he invaded his personal space. Benedict pushed him to the left, as he intended to walk away.

Before Benedict could process how it occurred, he found himself slammed against the wall by John.

John pinned Ben against the wall and held on firmly to his suit lapel with both hands. He did not let go. Ben squirmed angrily but found that he could not bring himself to hit the man holding him.

"Boys," Irene said nervously as she leaned against the wall.

John kept his eyes on Benedict as he spoke. "Get yourself under control. I never thought that I would say this to you but stop being emotional and think. That man hates you, He's jealous of you. I could tell by the talk he had with me. Moriarty or no Moriarty, Sebastian will find an excuse to kill you."

"Have we calmed ourselves?" John asked. Benedict said nothing but stopped squirming. John moved one hand to his chest pushing firmly, with the other hand he took out _the list_. He glanced at the document then looked back into Ben's face.

"_Listen to John_." He pointed to the words on the sheet of paper. "Your handwriting, your words not mine."

Benedict closed then opened his eyes. "Do you think you might let me go now?" Benedict asked as he looked down on the smaller man. The smaller man that is a lot stronger than he looks, Benedict mentally noted to him.

"I'll let you go now." John said as he backed off of his friend and handed the worn paper document back to Benedict.

John cleared his throat, "Do remember that you also wrote, '_Do __**NOT**__ shoot John_.' It was underlined." John reminded him.

"Did I?" Benedict asked. "I seem to forget a lot of things lately." He folded then put the document back in his jacket pocket. "Best if I keep this on me as a reminder." Benedict said sweetly.

Benedict sighed. "The gunfire is decreasing." Everyone silently wondered who was in possession of the mansion. No one said it out loud.

Benedict walked up to Adler. "Put your arms around my neck."

She looked at the blood on his shirt, "You're recovering." She now looked with concern in his eyes, then John's, back to him.

"My neck Ms. Adler." His voice was gentle but firm.

She nodded and allowed him to pick her up. The slight grimace on his face was not unseen, she noticed. She, however, did not comment.

"If we can make our way outside to the woods, men are outside that will protect us." John said as he glanced at his phone.

Benedict looked at John. "You lead the way; I'll direct you and carry her." John took his gun back out and led the way as they quietly made their way up the stairs, unsure of what they would find.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. let me know.

Love to all, Zacha


	36. Chapter 36

**Benedict story**

**Sherlock story  
**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 36

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. MapleleafCameo , Socalrose , Guest, BritLitChick , Prothoe, eohippus, (thanks for commenting on each chapter you read,) Lanna- Nailo and Warm-Glow, **Thank you. Love and tea. **

**Thank you** ; Miriza, madscientistsuz , hjohn302 , gemstone1234 , hanging in there , Taylor501 , Guest #3, Burning Phoenix, Jenna Yemowa , Warm Glow, Guest #1, Nietzsches , Guest #2 , hanging in there , hjohn302, ShiverandShamy, Lunita28, Voldemort101, bruderlein, Prothoe, briongloid fiodoir, Puky2012, leyapearl , hjohn302, Kitiara88, Pencilx , Warm-Glow, Jenna Yemowa, , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, Voldemort101, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**I appreciate you all.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

The update is here. I went back to chapter one on to current to make sure that here were no typos or errors. Feel free to PM me, to let me know if I missed anything.

I changed a few things story wise but not too much. I went into more of an explanation about the two sets of drugs that he received. The first series of drugs, the ones that Adler destroyed were to create and seal new memories in Sherlock. The second series of drugs were to make him passive and unquestioning (the tea).

* * *

**Time Line**

This is the time line. It is a little over **4 weeks** since the explosion. One week recovering and gaining consciousness. Two weeks that Moriarty has been away. Days of mental programming with Doctor Yang and days with _brothe_r Moriarty.

* * *

_**"Let me tell you the secret that has led me to my goal. My strength lies solely in my tenacity. "**_

~ Louis Pasteur

* * *

_**Current Time**_

_**Current Day**_

The rapid popping sound of gunfire was heard.

Benedict followed John up the stairs as he carried Adler. John led the way. They came to the top of the stairs. Adler gritted her teeth to keep from groaning. Both men noticed despite her efforts. It was also obvious that Benedict was not yet fully healed. Ben stifled a grunt himself.

They paused at the top of the stairs, waiting, listening, and looking discreetly around the wall's edge.

Benedict looked at John, staring him in the eyes as he waited for him to signal that it was safe to proceed. He felt Sherlock's stare, but John did not dare to look away from the hallway. He knew that Sherlock was waiting for him to give direction. Some things despite the odd situation seem familiar. John finally glanced at Sherlock, John would have to make an effort to remember to call him Benedict until this was over and they could finally talk.

John held up one hand to tell Sherlock to wait with Adler until he moved out further into the open. He nodded his understanding to Watson. John looked away from the Consultant Detective's eyes as he took a final glance at the corridor and two connecting hallways. He then turned his head to Sherlock and nodded.

Benedict needed no more encouragement. He quickly followed John as they alternated between walking and a light jog through the mansion as Benedict non-verbally guided them to the nearest exit. Another round of gunfire was heard again. It seemed to be coming from the level directly above them.

They quickened their steps. Adler let a small groan slip pass her lips. She apologized with her eyes. Benedict put his hand on John to wordlessly indicate that they needed to stop for a moment. John nodded but looked him in the eyes to let him know that it could not be for long. Both men were too busy to notice that they were communicating wordlessly as they always have since becoming good friends. They were too busy trying not to be detected to be aware.

Benedict looked down at her face and nodded a smile, telling her that he understood. Adler took a deep breath and then looked Benedict in the eyes and gave a slight nod. Benedict looked at John and both men started to move again. Without saying a word aloud, both men made an unspoken agreement to walk quickly unless running was absolutely necessary.

They stilled as they heard the rhythmic tap of shoes as it connected with the stone floor of the lower level.

* * *

The killer walked to the balcony with his gun in hand. He had killed two soldiers, agents; whoever they were. He did not aim to wound unless it served his purposes. Killing was a pleasure to him that only torture surpassed. He quickly pulled back when he barely passed the wall.

He had heard a low moan.

He peeked around the corner now and saw The Doctor, Holmes, and the woman. Sebastian watched from behind the wall. He was about to take aim but pulled back and thought. He briefly thought about killing them all but knew Moriarty would find out somehow if it were he. He needed to separate Holmes from Moriarty.

If they took Sherlock Holmes away then Moriarty would be free to turn his full attention on his criminal kingdom. Moriarty's one thought day and night was Benedict. Jim rarely said Sherlock Holmes anymore. Instead, he said Benedict.

Moriarty was a great man. Sometimes great men needed someone to protect them from themselves, he thought.

Jim needed his help.

Moriarty would forget about Benedict… eventually. He would **visit **Holmes later when Moriarty had forgotten about him and personally say hello to Holmes, perhaps he would also visit the doctor. Sebastian smiled to himself as he complimented himself on his cleverness. He would have to tell Moriarty of the _unfortunate_ loss of Benedict.

The killer watched them as they quickly moved away now. Maybe he would have good luck and someone else would accidentally shoot Holmes. Maybe he would be shot in the crossfire. Moriarty's men would kill the soldier and woman; no one would risk Moriarty's wrath and kill Holmes purposefully without Moriarty's permission.

Sebastian stood alone as he now wondered how to reveal the fact that his prize was lost to Moriarty.

He heard gunfire again.

He needed to get to the tunnel while he was still able. Sebastian quickly backed up until he disappeared behind the wall again.

* * *

They had managed to avoid detection so far. They avoided two guards who seemed to be patrolling the second floor and came walking down the stairs. They ducked into a close room that luckily had no one occupying it. John checked outside now that the footsteps retreated, and then motioned with his head for them to come out and follow.

Multiple popping sounds were heard close by. They were also close to the outside. They would have to first pass the staff kitchen that was located next to the door to the back of the mansion to exit.

They finally came to the end of the long corridor and faced a new problem, a substantial opened space. There was one passageway on the left, one on the right, and one straight forward. John was in the lead. There were a few yards of space where there would be no coverage.

John considered the risks of proceeding but felt it was the best alternative.

He made his choice.

They would have to pass this area or turn around and make their way to the opposite end of the mansion. The mansion was massive in size and there was still gunfire sounding in the background, most of which were coming from that direction.

Retreat was not an option.

John thought for a moment. It was one of the many risky movements they had to hazard to reach the kitchen area, then the outside to Mycroft's men.

John nodded at Sherlock and then motioned with his hand for him to go first. He held his gun in the direction of the gunfire. Sherlock acknowledged his directive with a return nod. He could see straight ahead clearly but not in the other two directions, so he eased his way to the edge of the wall.

He glanced in both directions then quickly passed the open space and went into the next corridor and leaned his body against the wall as he caught his breath while still holding Adler. John did the same and was about to pass the open space when it happened.

John saw the slight widening of Sherlock's eyes as his mouth simultaneously started to open. Sherlock's eyes were looking at the corridor to the left. It was the direction that John heard feet running.

John' eyes widened as he attempted to turn to his left. John knew with chilling certainty that he would not be able to react in time.

Shots rang out as both the sounds of flesh being hit and the thud of bodies being pierced, echoed in the air.


	37. Chapter 37

**Benedict story**

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 37

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to review. ***

The update is here. I went back to chapter one on to current to make sure that here were no typos or errors. Feel free to PM me, to let me know if I missed anything.

I changed a few things story wise but not too much. I went into more of an explanation about the two sets of drugs that he received. The first series of drugs, the ones that Adler destroyed were to create and seal new memories in Sherlock. The second series of drugs were to make him passive and unquestioning (the tea).

**Things to know**, an iPod is a portable music device. (Thanks for the iPod suggestion)

Enjoy

* * *

"_**Sometimes it's the smallest decisions that can change your life forever.**__**"**_

~ Keri Russell

* * *

_**Current Time**_

_**Current Day**_

Moriarty made it out of the tunnel finally. It was kilometers from the mansion. There were two tunnels that headed in two opposite directions from the mansion.

An open electric cart was located in the tunnel for such moments as these. Its purpose was to provide faster transport to the end of the tunnel. However, if Jim was honest, this particular property was so well hidden, with practically no paper trail, as well as it being located in a country that did not have an agreement to extradite criminals; he never thought that it would be necessary to use it.

He reached the Land Rover now; he would need it to drive the short distance through the rough terrain then onto the small obscure back road.

Mycroft had to be in the country discreetly. Moriarty had plants in the government that would have informed him if any legitimate deals were made.

Moriarty made a call when all the _excitement_ started. It was time to put pressure on Mycroft's men. Moriarty smiled. The game was becoming interesting.

"Sir," One of the five guards reminded him for the second time. "Don't you think it's time to leave now? Sebastian can bring Benedict along and the other men have the jeeps."

"We have a little time," Moriarty said as he took out his knife and sliced an apple. He slowly put it in his mouth looking at the guard and chewed.

The guard looked and decided not to say another word. He knew his boss well enough to know that that was his way of saying, "I'm being nice today, ask me again and I might kill you or worse."

The other guards decided to be quiet as well.

Moriarty put in his head earplugs and turned on his iPod. He closed his eyes as he lay on the top of the Land Rover hood, waiting for Benedict to arrive.

* * *

John could not stop his body from flinching as he heard the bullets hit flesh. He waited for the pain to come and his body to collapse; neither happened.

He smiled. "Hello dear," John said barely above a whisper without looking around.

Myers and another agent stepped out of the corner. The bodies of two guards lay on the floor. Myers pulled out her last mobile phone and made her last secure call.

"Provide cover we're coming out," She said looking.

She quickly ended the call. "Can you make it, Agent Lauer can take her." Myers inquired quickly as she looked at Benedict.

Benedict was tired and if he was honest, starting to hurt. Still, he shook his head no. He was a little mentally thrown. John's presence was the only thing that made him feel a little confident. He also felt connected to this woman in some way. What way, he was unsure now. He ignored the headache he felt forming.

He did not trust anyone else. He did not trust his brother's men, who would most likely try to take him back to Jim. He was already going to try to get away from his brother when the opportunity presented itself. He did not trust these men with the guns.

If it were not for John's presence and the woman needing him, Benedict would have tried to get away from everyone.

"I'll take her." He did not trust her to anyone else. He also had a chance to gather his strength before they made the mad dash for their lives.

"I'm sure," Benedict reassured her before she could ask again. Myers looked at him assessing if he was physically able to do it. She saw the determination in his face and nodded.

Benedict looked at Adler. "Sorry in advance," he whispered to her.

"That can't be good," She tried to joke weakly.

Benedict frowned when he saw her pain filled face. He thought for a moment then pulled out the hem of his dress shirt and tore it. "Bite." He instructed her. She opened her mouth and bit down on the rolled up piece of cloth. She looked him in the eyes and nodded.

Everyone glanced at each other in the small group. Myers nodded as she led the way. She waited for the signal. A red flash of light came from the woods. "Go," she said as they ran toward that red light.

They ran for their lives as gunfire rang.

* * *

They made it safely to the woods.

Myers walked up to Benedict, Adler and John. Her eyes traveled on everyone. Benedict put Adler on the ground as John and another soldier went to her. The soldier gave Irene something to drink as he and John pulled out the soldier's portable medical kit and started to work, his attention fully focused on Adler.

Through several windows, scattered flashes of light was witnessed at the same time that random gunfire was heard.

Benedict was distractedly looking on at Adler but not saying anything.

Unexpectedly, Myers came up to Benedict and before he knew what was happening, she kissed him deeply as her hands ran through his hair and the back of his neck. Several soldiers glanced but then professionally returned their eyes back to the mansion with guns and rifles drawn. John finished up with Adler who had her eyes temporarily closed and missed the entire exchange.

John cleared his throat as Benedict immediately pushed her gently away and disengaged his lips from hers. Benedict chose not to address the fact that he had kissed her back. He looked at John then Adler who chose that moment to open her eyes. She looked from Myers to John to Benedict. She sleepily wondered what she missed a second before her eyes closed again.

Benedict bodily turned Myers around and pushed her gently toward John. I think his lips are the ones you want. Myers turned her head only. "You remembered?" She asked.

Benedict sighed as if he was talking to a slow child. "Your eyes dilated and your pulse increased to the point that I could see it jumping in your neck. It did that only when you looked at him." Benedict nodded his head toward John. He had stopped questioning himself on how he knew these things. Ben almost accepted it now.

Ben's eyes asked her why she had kissed him. "I was glad to see you." Myers said innocently.

Benedict raised his eyebrows in skepticism. Myers got closer and whispered for his ears only. "I've always wondered what it would be like." Benedict snorted at her reason disbelievingly until she added. "You kissed me back, and was that your tongue I felt?" Myers whispered sweetly.

The smile left Benedict's face abruptly and a scowl took its place. "I don't remember you and yet I wish I had a gun, loaded and ready to fire." He glared angrily as he towered over her.

"Then there's hope for you yet. And, remember, I know how to use a gun as well, and I can kick your ars…"

"Children," John intervened as he stood between the two of them. "I see you've both said hello to each other."

Benedict looked at John before whispering, "She's a maniac." Then he practically stomped off to Adler as he knelt beside her.

"What was that about?" He asked Mary curiously. With anyone else, he would have been jealous. He thought it best not to try to identify why with Sherlock; he was not.

She looked at John and smile mischievously but did not answer. Instead, she looked John over. He looked her over as well. His eyes landed on a bruise.

"We're both fine," she said as she traced the forming bruise on his jaw. "Be careful," She added.

"Stay out of trouble, if that's even possible for you." John said with a smile, but his eyes were serious.

"You know me." She raised an eyebrow. She kissed him and looked lovingly in his eyes before she ran off to talk to one of the three agents standing by.


	38. Chapter 38

**Benedict story**

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 38

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**I appreciate you all.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

The update is here. I went back to chapter one on to current to make sure that here were no typos or errors. Feel free to PM me, to let me know if I missed anything.

I changed a few things story wise but not too much. I went into more of an explanation about the two sets of drugs that he received. The first series of drugs, the ones that Adler destroyed were to create and seal new memories in Sherlock. The second series of drugs were to make him passive and unquestioning (the tea).

Enjoy

* * *

"_**The course of our lives is not determined by great, awesome decisions. Our direction is set by the**_

_** little day-to-day choices which chart the track on which we run."**_

**~ Gordon B. Hinckley**

* * *

_**Current Time**_

_**Current Day**_

Captain Magoro spoke on the satellite phone. "Everything went relatively smoothly."

"_Doctor Watson, Adler?" The voice on the other line asked._

"Doctor Watson is relatively uninjured just bruised. Adler is injured, they are stabilizing her now for transport. She might need an airlift. Holmes is physically stable however, he may be at the beginning stages of withdrawal."

"_How many did we lose?" The voice on the other line asked._

"Two. One agent and one soldier on our side. We captured seven guards, four are injured. Less than half the guards were gone, several escaped. All the other guards are dead." Captain Magoro reported.

"_Moriarty," The voice asked._

"Escaped," The captain could not quite hide the frustration in his voice.

"_Get Holmes across the border immediately, if anything goes wrong. Go to the backup location and wait for help." The voice instructed. _

"This is not over." The captain had not asked as a question but instead stated the obvious.

"_No, it is not over. I'll meet Holmes and Watson there. It should be safe to transport Adler if Holmes is not with her. False Identifications for her will be on the transport."_

"Sir, Is it wise for you to be there?" Captain Magoro asked.

"_I'm not letting him out of my sight. I'll inform Mycroft Holmes." The voice said as the lines disconnected._

* * *

Moriarty smiled as he looked up, he could hear Sebastian approaching as he opened his eyes and sat up from the hood of the car. He had long ago turned off his music. He could almost feel the killer's presence.

He slid down the car's hood and came to stand with a smile. His smile faded as he saw Sebastian standing alone. The fact that none of the other soldiers were there was noticed but did not bother him. The fact that Benedict was not there did.

Moriarty looked at Sebastian in the eyes as he took back up his long forgotten apple. He sliced the brown part off first as it fell to the ground. He then sliced a piece of the apple and slowly chewed as he looked quietly at the man before him. Moriarty nodded as he gave him permission to speak.

"I regret to inform you Sir that Benedict was taken by the time I arrived. When I arrived in the room two were dead, but one was not doctor Watson, both were our…your guards." Sebastian paused slightly and took another breath.

Jim took another slice of the apple.

"I did see Benedict but he was with a very much alive Doctor Watson." He walked closer to say quietly, "Sir, he did not look like he was being taken against his will," Sebastian hoped he sounded hesitant and not gleeful. He waited the appropriate seconds to pause. "It looked as if he willingly followed him."

Sebastian paused again. He wondered if he should leave the other part out but Moriarty would be able to tell he was keeping something from him.

"They were carrying someone. I could not tell from the distance, but I believe it might have been a woman. The mansion will soon be overrun." Sebastian said.

"I regret to say Benedict is lost Sir." There was a slight pause "We really should get you to safety." Sebastian waited for Moriarty's reaction.

"Give me your arm." Moriarty commanded. Sebastian looked grimly as he sighed and gave Moriarty his arm. "Left or right Sir," Sebastian asked evenly.

"You choose Seb." Moriarty said conversationally as he took another slice of the apple.

Sebastian gave him the right arm since he was left handed. Jim chewed on an apple slice as he took the knife and carved on the killer's arm.

**B,** Jim carved.

**E**, the next letter.

**N**, the last.

"You know, I must really like you Seb, or I would have carved, BENEDICT, not BEN. That will be a reminder, just in case you forget who I want you to get for me." Moriarty took the knife and sliced another piece of the apple without cleaning the knife blade. He acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

All of his men except Sebastian cringed but said nothing. Sebastian looked bored.

"Yes, Mr. Moriarty." Sebastian said as he walked away. He did not bother to look at his arm. The cut was so shallow it did not bleed in most places. It was just a message. Jim could be so dramatic sometimes. He would not risk his arm not being able to shoot. Moriarty let him get away with more that anyone, Sebastian noticed. Jim must really care for him.

Sherlock Holmes would suffer as soon as he could get away with it without Moriarty tracing it back to him.

_Sherlock Holmes afraid - Sherlock with that smirk wiped off his face – begging - choking for air with his hands around Sherlock's neck – Sherlock's throat hoarse from calling for help that would never come - Sherlock trembling underneath him cold, helpless, vulnerable, and screaming._

These were the last thoughts of Sebastian before he started to think of his next move. He found himself smiling.

* * *

"Do you understand my instructions?" He listened, "Bruises and force are permitted but don't scar that face or body and only if necessary," Moriarty said.

"How close?" Moriarty listened, looked at his Rolex watch, and smiled.

"That will be all." Moriarty did not wait for a reply as he disconnected. He then lay back on the seat in the Land Rover and closed his eyes as he stifled a yawn. He would catch a few hours of sleep as they drove.

He put back in his earplugs turned up his music and drifted off into a light sleep.

* * *

"What do you mean?" John Watson tried to lower his voice. "Are you insane? I need to be with him and I need more time. I don't want to leave Adler until the transport has come for her and I want to go into the lab to see if I can understand anything about what he was given."

"I understand your dilemma Doctor Watson, but I have my orders and I **will** follow them." Captain Magoro's voice softened. He realized that they were both frustrated and tired. He looked at the man before him. The Doctor was doing remarkably well mentally for a man that was just released from being a prisoner.

"He won't go with me willingly and I don't want to use force. Don't you think he's been through enough mental and physical traumas?" The captain asked.

John was tired and frustrated. He looked from the mansion, to the dead bodies of the guards lying around, to the seeming peacefulness of the wooded area.

Madness.

Sherlock was right in front of him, the thought of leaving him again was almost unbearable. He also felt that they were both safer with each other. Captain Magoro voice pulled John out of his thoughts.

"Doctor, I've already taken time to talk that we don't have. I need an answer." Captain Magoro said firmly.

"You'll be a few hours behind him Doctor." The captain added.

"I'll talk to him first." John decided.

"We don't have time." Magoro started to say.

John looked at him. The captain sighed and nodded his head.

Benedict could not help but noticed John's gesture and body language as well as the man's body language that he was speaking to. He thought that they would come to blows earlier. He winced. His headache was getting worse and he was starting to feel a little jumpy.

He noticed John walking toward him but did not acknowledge it. Ben looked at the sleeping woman beside him. He sat on the ground next to her. He put his hand on her head as he gently stroked her hair.

Too much information was coming into his senses. He closed his eyes for a few second to block some of it out.

He felt John sit beside him on the ground.

Benedict spoke, "You're not coming with me, neither is she." Benedict looked him in the eyes. "When do I leave?"

John closed his eyes then opened them. "Now." John said. He pulled out two phones. He gave one to Sherlock. He put the other in his pocket. "Push the first button and you'll get me. Call me for any reason even to say that you particularly like the shade of green on the tree that you've just passed. If I don't answer right away, that probably means I'm being shot at. I'll call you back as soon as I can. If that should happen, push the second button and someone named Mycroft will answer. You can trust him with your life. He would and have almost died to save you."

Benedict gave a slight nod now looking at Adler.

"Sher… Benedict, can you look at me please?" John asked. Benedict looked. "I know you're probably, pissed at me right now for leaving you. I know it doesn't happen often but I know when you're scared. If it makes you feel better I'm pissed at myself."

"Thomas is usually here to back you up in these rare situations when I can't. I'm not sure where he is but we can't wait for him." John said to himself as well as Sherlock.

"Thomas?" Sherlock felt something pull at his mind.

"You've known each other for years, you just don't remember now. He's just a few years older than you but he'd guarded you on and off for years. You two always got along but you both have grown closer the last year. I'll re-introduce you to him later." John explained quickly.

Benedict stood and took the phone. "Take care of her, she looks pale."

"She's strong," John said as they started to walk to the jeep where four soldiers were already waiting. Somehow, Benedict knew that it was the truth.

"Well John," Benedict shook his hand formally. "Take care of yourself." Benedict turned to leave but John did not release the grip on his hand.

"Promise me something," John looked him in the eyes. "You have an uncanny intuition that you deny most of the time. It has saved both of our lives several times. I know that you are a man of logic but, listen to that feeling, that voice on the inside of you." John was trying not to waver.

"I thought I was supposed to _listen to John_." Benedict tried to joke. "I wrote it down, remember?"

Benedict looked at John intently. "I think I'm safer with you." He said more quietly.

John frowned, he felt himself waver now.

Ben was suddenly embarrassed by the display of weakness. He needed to close his eyes. He needed to shut out the world for a little while. He needed the headache to go.

"…are you OK?" He heard John's voice floating in.

"I'm fine John." Benedict said as he pulled his hand away and got into the back seat of the jeep abruptly.

Benedict looked straight ahead as the jeep immediately pulled away. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to look back, to look at John but he would not. He needed no one.

_The jeep drove on._

He was a grown man.

_The jeep drove further_.

He would **not** look.

_The jeep was getting close to the bend in the road._

Damn**.**

Benedict sighed as he turned to see if perhaps he could glimpse John one last time. Ben was shocked to find that this John was standing in the middle of the road watching him, seemingly unembarrassed if anyone around him noticed.

Benedict looked until he could not see John anymore.

* * *

_**15 Minutes Later**_

_**Safe-house**_

_**Current Day**_

Kevin Patel spat out his coffee as Intel came in. He looked at the updated satellite picture and almost choked. He scrambled for the phone. He held the phone between his head and shoulder as his fingers flew across the screen. Kevin glanced at his earpiece for the phone in the other room but decided against stopping to get it.

The line was answered.

"Sir, an issue has come up." Kevin started the long conversation.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Please review. :) Lots of Love to all. Zacha


	39. Chapter 39

**Benedict story**

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 39

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**Edited** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. Dawnfire11 (Welcome. Thank you for your multiple post and fun comments.) hjohn302 (Thanks for reading when you were busy) ,MapleleafCameo (If you think this is tense, wait) , Puky2012 (You are correct, it is not over), Taylor501 (Thanks for the multiple post, stay well),Nietzsches (your commentary made me smile),Socalrose (Thanks for posting on all that you read,more evil cliffie ahead),Flounder65 (Thanks for your kind words. I appreciate them more than you might know), Prothoe (More warning signs ahead),eohippus (Thanks for commenting on each chapter you read, looking forward to your next chapter), Jenna Yemowa ( Thanks and stay safe),Warm-Glow (Your words are like warm tea to my soul, thanks). **Thank you. Love and tea. **

**Thank you** ; Lanna- Nailo and Guest, BritLitChick , Miriza, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234 , hanging in there , Guest #3, Burning Phoenix, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hjohn302, ShiverandShamy, Lunita28, Voldemort101, bruderlein, Prothoe, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hjohn302, Kitiara88, Pencilx , Warm-Glow, Jenna Yemowa, , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, Voldemort101, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**I appreciate you all.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Reminder

I changed a few things story wise but not too much. I went into more of an explanation about the two sets of drugs that he received. The first series of drugs, the ones that Adler destroyed were to create and seal new memories in Sherlock. The second series of drugs were to make him passive and unquestioning (the tea).

This is the time line. It is a little over 4 weeks since the explosion. One week recovering and gaining consciousness. Two weeks that Moriarty has been away. Days of mental programming with Doctor Yang and days with _brother_ Moriarty.

* * *

"_**Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart**_

_**and his friends can only read the title.**_" ~Virginia Woolf

* * *

_**Current Time**_

_**Current Day**_

John's mind was still on Sherlock as he worked on Adler. The medically train soldier was assisting. He was planning to rejoin him in a few hours but felt an uneasiness. He looked at Adler and noticed that she looked weaker. The transport would be arriving soon.

Irene opened her eyes now and seemed a little clearer mentally. Now was his chance. He hated to ask her questions now but had little choice. She might not wake up next time she slept until she had proper medical treatment.

"Irene, I am worried about Sherlock. I saw signs in his body that suggest withdrawal. I need to know from what. You posed as Doctor Yáng's lab assistant. What did they give him to control the worse of the symptoms? I need something to tie him over until we can get him to the airplane, and then home."

Adler paused to catch her breath and closed then opened her eyes. John looked at her with concern. She dismissed his concern with a smile and continued.

"I saved one syringe of the medication, but Moriarty was clever. He found me out. I had to choose between destroying it and Moriarty getting possession of it. If he did, he would have injected the full dose into Sherlock. Sherlock might or might not have been able to resist the false memories if that had happened. I could not risk the possibility of that occurring if Moriarty got a hold of it."

She took another break, this one shorter. She took a breath.

"I was forced to destroy the experimental drug."

John looked grim, so did Adler. Adler closed her eyes but suddenly they flew open.

"Wait, Doctor Yáng. She was not supposed to, but sometimes she sneaked things out of the lab, documents, once a dose of the drug. Even though Moriarty paid her to develop and define the old military experimental study for him only, I think she was planning to take the drug formula and further develop it on her own. Selling it to other parties beside Moriarty."

Adler grimaced before continuing.

"I don't think she had any idea how dangerous Jim was until it was too late. I know she kept one dose in a silver canister case that she attached to the underside of her bathroom cabinet. I don't know if it's still there John. But it's worth a look, don't you think?" She thought for a minute and looked at John.

"She either did not know that I was looking as she hid it or did not think me important enough to cover it up. She was an arrogant sort but brilliant."

Adler energy seemed renewed. John knew that it was Adrenaline and would not last long.

"Help me to sit up." John frowned at Adler's request.

"Irene." John warned with crossed arms.

"John." Adler weakly raised her eyebrows defiantly.

John shook his head, sighed then nodded resigned. The soldier next to her helped her to sit up.

Irene thought of something and frowned. "There was a lab assistant her name is Kim is she …dead?"

"Short… dyed blonde hair?" Irene asked.

John asked a soldier to get the answers for her as he asked another one to get the blueprint or a map of the layout of the mansion so that Irene could show him where Doctor Yáng's room was.

An agent came back quickly. He addressed both Adler and John.

"She's OK just scared. This young lady kept repeating over and over again about getting a new job in a different line of work." The soldier smirked.

He looked in Adler's eyes. "Don't worry she…."

"Kim," Adler corrected.

"…Yes, Kim is alive." The soldier finished.

"What about Doctor Yáng?" Adler asked. The agent frowned now. He hesitated slightly.

"She's alive…ish," he said sympathetically before nodding and returning to his work

"Where is doctor Yáng's room," John asked. He noticed that her burst of energy was dissipating.

"Bring the blueprint of the mansion closer." Adler asked as a soldier assisted her to sit up more. She leaned her back against the soldier for support as John sat beside her and listened.

Another soldier ran off to find Agent Myers.

* * *

Kevin spoke in what he hoped was a calm manner on the phone to several contacts and The Ghost directly. He had just finished giving the information to several points of interest. He sat up from his computer screens. He blinked away the blur from his eyes and rubbed them softly with the back of his hand. His eyes scrutinized the computer screens for the past twelve hours. His only break was to use the loo and get coffee.

Ok, he got a lot of coffee.

He sighed.

The truth was if you cut him now, coffee would pour out of his veins, Kevin confessed in his thoughts only.

He stretched his tall thin frame and was rewarded with a pop in his back. In the downstairs conference room, ten agents were there. Several maps, papers, computers, coffees, teacups, and guns were scattered everywhere. It was a strange combination of things.

They would stay until the arrival of Sherlock Holmes. They were informed that Holmes was on the way. It was as if they were preparing for a third world war.

Holmes was on the move and expected to be there as soon as they managed to cross the border. The analyst's hands tapped nervously on his thighs without him noticing. Kevin's gun was discreetly tucked in his back trouser belt as advised by the Agent called Thomas. The young analyst hoped that he would not need the gun.

Patel tried to control the nervous energy he felt. He noticed that he was bouncing one foot up and down. He looked longingly at his coffee. Perhaps more coffee now was not a good idea.

Kevin sat back down again and rolled his head from left to right to relieve stress. He returned to work. His fingers flying across the computer keys again.

BAM!

Kevin jumped at his computer. He exhaled a breath when he realized that one of the agents accidently pushed over several eat off trays that slammed to the floor. Kevin's face reddened slightly. He cleared his throat as his heart rate returned to normal. He hoped no one saw him jump.

His fingers returned to the computer keys almost automatically as his brilliant mind wandered.

Patel considered how Agent Thomas and the Captain helped him to practice some hand-to-hand combat before they left. He liked Agent Thomas and the Captain.

Patel was trained over two years ago. It was embarrassing to admit, but he had never needed to use the methods he was trained with. The only thing Kevin ever fought on his assignments was boredom. Now he had to be prepared to fight trained terrorist employed by the most dangerous criminal in the world.

"Happy days," Kevin whispered sarcastically as his feet pushed him from one computer screen to another.

When Thomas helped Kevin, he did not make him feel inferior. Thomas taught him a few tricks with the gun as well. He hoped he would not need to use them. Kevin wondered if he was the same person who was complaining of being bored only a little more than a month ago?

Kevin hoped that the Captain and Agent Thomas would be arriving with Holmes. He was anxious to see the man that moved so many people to find him. Kevin thought he would not mind the fact that he would see Agent Thomas and Captain Magoro both soon as well. He would thank them for…

Kevin's thoughts were interrupted as beeps sounded. An image was recreated by print as it rolled out of a machine.

Kevin's eyes widened for the third time in three hours. He cursed silently as he impatiently waited for the machine to fully finish printing the image. His fingers tapped nervously on his leg as he resisted the urge to rip the paper from the machine.

Kevin transmitted the information.

If the Intel he had just transmitted was correct, a small war was about to start. Sherlock Holmes was the object of desire for both sides. One side was determined to get Mr. Holmes back. The other side was just as determined to keep him.

The mansion and areas surrounding the mansion finally finished printing. Kevin sighed with relief as he snatched it from the printer and briskly walked to the stairs. He then ran rhythmically down the stairs. He walked up to the agent in charge as he attempted to hide his nervousness.

"Sir," Kevin said, "Here are the activities and the ETAs. They will be arriving soon. Significant activity is north of the mansion and seems to be heading that way. Fast.."

* * *

_**Secrets weigh heavily on the soul.**_ ~ Grace Freeman

* * *

**Ten minutes later**

Irene had shown Yang's room location and the location of the hidden canister.

She was looking paler now. Irene blinked her eyes to keep them open. She only grimaced at first but then stifled an escaped moan. It turned quickly into a full groan. John had given her something for pain.

She looked at John earnestly. She suddenly started mumbling coherently at times, incoherently other times. John frowned. Irene seemed to be rambling more now.

"John you have to..." She said with closed eyes. She opened them and blinked rapidly.

"Wit…With the exception of Sherlock, I trust no one but you to do this." Irene said weakly.

"Do what Irene," he asked as he finished closing the wound dressing back to her abdomen and tucked the shock blanket back snugly around her.

"He doesn't know John. John if something should happen to me." Adler suddenly became quiet. John thought she was asleep and was surprised when she continued to speak.

"You'll receive a text message. There is someone that I need for you to…There's something that I need you to take care of for me." Irene had to rest before continuing. "N…Normally the text would first go to Sherlock then to you only if …something should happen to him. Mycroft is the last resort."

"Irene, what are you going on about? I'm afraid you're not making sense love." John wondered of the pain medications were making her not think clearly. He doubted she would even remember what she said later.

"I'm fine," she was starting to slur, "Stay with Sherlock. He ne…needs you John. If something happens to me, help Sher…Sherlock take care of him." Adler barely was able to finish.

"Take care of him? Him who?" John asked confused. Adler's eyes rolled closed suddenly.

John frowned and felt for a pulse. He sighed relieved. She just passed out again. "She's talking nonsense. It must be the drugs," John said quietly to himself.

Myers came over to Adler and John. Myers knelt down next to them both. John brushed Irene's hair out of her face. It was strange seeing her vulnerable. She was always so strong. Sherlock was also always so strong. It was a bit surreal to see them both vulnerable at the same time.

"Is she going to be OK?" Mary Myers asked. John looked at Irene; she was going in and out of consciousness now and was out again.

"Yes. She's one of the strongest persons I know." John replied absently.

John looked at her. If what she said was correct and not just drug induced fantasies, if a life was indeed on the line, he would do everything in his power to make sure that that life was safe.

A gentle breeze blew. Adlers' dark hair danced and waved before resting on the front of her face again. John's calloused fingers gently brushed it out of her face for the second time.

He saw and heard the all terrain vehicles arriving. John sighed in relief. Now Adler could be transported. She could not afford to lose much more blood.

"Mary," John said. "I would feel better if someone I knew went with her for protection. I'm anxious to get back to Sherlock. If something were to happen to her, Sherlock would not be happy." He hesitated and thought about it as he realized the truth of his words. "Neither would I."

The old Adler, John had not liked in all honesty. If he was truthful, parts of him had disliked her strongly. The slow and painful changed that he had witnessed in her over the past year and nine months had made him, first slowly cautious, then tolerant, then cautiously optimistic.

Now he realized that he was fond of her. John knew she was fond of him as well. She had more than proven her faithfulness to Sherlock and that was all that mattered in John's opinion. Her faithfulness to other people however was still up for debate.

Mary talked on her phone for a moment. "Agent Lauer will accompany her. I've instructed him not to leave her side for any reason."

"Do you trust him Mary?" John asked as he looked and watched them loading her onto the stretcher to be carried.

"Yes John," she said as he gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "I've worked with him on and off for four years."

"I would go with her myself, but with what happened to Thomas, I need to be here with Captain Magoro. We need to finish up and get back across the border as soon as possible."

"Where is Thomas anyway? He's normally here in these situations. It's usually difficult to get him away from Sherlock. He's the only agent Sherlock seems to tolerate." He sighed with relief as he looked. Agent Lauer helped to loaded Adler onto the vehicle. They immediately drove away. John felt a burden lift when he was assured that Adler was on her way to the airlift and medical care.

John now turned his attention to Mary who he just realized had become quiet.

"What?" John asked.

"I guess you wouldn't know about Thomas, would you? I suggest we talk as we travel to the labs then Yáng's room." Mary said as she glanced at the roads from the mansion.

"After you," He said. They both jogged back into the mansion.


	40. Chapter 40

**Benedict story**

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 40

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**I appreciate you all.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

**Enjoy  
**

* * *

"_**The past is our definition. We may strive, with good reason, to escape it,**_

_**or to escape what is bad in it, but we will escape it only by adding **_

_**something better to it." **_~Wendell Berry

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_****__**Current Time**_

It was over an hour into the drive.

Benedict woke up after the jeep bumped a hole on the road. He startled as he groaned aloud. He blinked his eyes as his hand without thought came up to dry wipe his face. An image faded from his eyes. He looked around. The trees were becoming more spread out and thin, the air warmer.

He looked at the soldiers, they were still driving. He glanced at one of the soldiers. Something about him bothered Benedict. He was unsure why. His thoughts were getting increasingly fuzzy. He bit his lower lip as he swallowed hard. He was thirsty.

He fingered the phone in his suit pocket as he again looked at the soldier in the front passenger seat. A pain shot through his head. Benedict gritted his teeth as he closed his eyes. He took deep breaths to even out his respirations.

His right hand came reflectively to his nose as he felt the warm sticky liquid. His long fingertips came back red. He stared at it with a bit of slight confusion until he realized that it was blood.

"… you OK?" He heard a voice float in from his side.

It took him a moment to realize that it was probably wise that he answered.

"I'm fine," he took the sterile medical gauze cloth and applied pressure to his nose. His fingers reflectively touched the phone in his pocket.

A white light flashed before his eyes then quickly retreated. He blinked as he waited for it to clear up. He swallowed again the thirst quickly becoming worse.

"Do you want water Sir," The soldier from the front seat asked Benedict. Something in the back of his mind told him not to drink it. His body disagreed as his tongue came and licked his dried lips.

"I'll wait." Benedict said. For a moment, he thought he saw something flash in that soldier's eyes, but another flash of pain took his mind off of everything else for minutes until the pain decreased enough for him to think again.

"How much further before we stop?" Ben now asked. Benedict needed to speak to John. He wanted the conversation to be private. He would call as soon as the jeep stopped.

The nosebleed finally stopped. They seemed to be occurring more frequently, Ben noticed.

"Not much further Sir," a different soldier, the one to his side answered. "We were originally not supposed to stop until we got you past the boarder but there has been a sudden heavy increase in activity. We are going to the backup location. Your Doctor Watson and several other persons will meet you there soon." The soldier sitting next to him, gave him a reassuring smile before turning to observe the road. Benedict noticed that they now took out their guns.

He looked to the side as he watched the landscape past. Benedict was lost in thought as the jeep disappeared down the dirt road.

* * *

John, Mary, and another soldier walked into the room of the doctor. John put his gun in the gun holster he was provided with, as Mary and the other soldier kept watch. John reached under the cabinet in the bathroom. He said a prayer as he squatted on the floor and looked in the cabinet. His right hand reached up and felt the coolness of metal. John pressed up and with a click he disengaged a metal case.

He smiled as he opened the metal case then looked at the syringe. In the back of his mind, he heard Mary responding on her mobile.

"John, we have to go, company is coming." She looked at the vial in his hands. "Is that it?" She asked.

"It might be but I need to analyze it. I can prepare a weak dose but I'm not giving Sherlock anything until I am sure of what it is."

John and the group started moving quickly as they spoke.

"Alder's microchip gave us the basic formulas for series one and two of the drug. We can analyze it in ten minutes," Myers said. Myers led the way with John following and the soldiers in the rear of her.

Their guns were out and ready to fire. The mansion was supposed to be clear but it was huge. John knew Moriarty enough to be surprised if it did not have hidden passages and a hidden room or two. They would not have time to search completely.

"Can we analyze on the move? I need to get to Sherlock." John asked. Luckily the doctor's room was fairly close to the exit and on the first level. They would be out soon.

"I'll make it happen." Myer took out her mobile as they passed the staff kitchen.

"Pack up quickly…" She spoke on her mobile as they jogged. They all exhaled with relief when they exited the building. John took out his mobile to call Sherlock and check on him. He had an uneasy feeling.

They all noticed movement coming from their right side; it was the captain.

Captain Magoro was jogging toward the group but his focus was on Myers. His face held a grim expression. He had a satellite phone in his hand.

* * *

Mycroft ended the call on his mobile phone. He spoke with John. He was relieved that John was recovered.

John suggested that he speak to Sherlock but Mycroft declined. With Sherlock's memories programmed, he did not want to trigger any flashbacks until he was physically with him. He advised John and all the agents to not challenge any memories until they had Sherlock in medical care.

He called Anthea to ensure that three airplanes were ready for takeoff. They were located on opposite ends of the country. Somehow, Moriarty seemed to know that they were heading for Tangier to exit the country and a small army was suddenly there. There was a leak somewhere. There usually was at least one on both sides.

Mycroft rubbed his head. Ideally, he have been several hours away from seeing Sherlock. Now things were not as clear. Several agents and Anthea were in the room awaiting instructions

"Take me to him," Mycroft said tiredly.

"Sir, if you're found in the country it could be an international incident." His agent reminded him of the obvious.

Mycroft knew he was correct. If anyone else suggested what he was about to do. He would stop them and say that they were being emotional and not thinking in a logical manner.

"Sherlock Holmes, no one but you could reduce me to this," Mycroft whispered to himself.

"I'm sorry Sir, what did you say?" One agent asked.

Mycroft sighed, "I said we have to use care to make sure that I am in and out without anyone knowing."

Anthea sighed resigned. "Unfortunately, I thought you might feel that way."

Anthea walked away and came back with several bags; she pulled an object out and gave it to Mycroft.

"Sir you will at least need to be in disguise." She insisted.

Mycroft looked at the object in horror and frowned. "What is this?" He asked in earnest with his nose turned up in revulsion.

Anthea could not help her smile, "They are called blue jeans, Sir."

* * *

"_**The past is strapped to our backs. We do not have to see it; we can always**_

_**feel**_ _**it."**_ ~Mignon McLaughlin

* * *

Benedict felt the vibration of his phone. He picked it up and answered cautiously. "Yes," he said.

"Um… Benedict this is John. I wanted to know how you were, and to let you know that I'll see you in less than two hours." The voice on the mobile phone said.

Benedict did not realize that he had been holding his breath. He wanted to tell John many things. He trusted him after all did he not? But, they were still in the car and he did not want to have a conversation in presence of the soldiers, particularly the one in the front passenger seat. He noticed the way the man looked at him yet pretended not to look. He could not put his finger on it but his look was _different._

"Sh…?" The voice said with concern now. "Benedict?" The voice corrected itself a little louder in volume.

Benedict thought as he tried to keep his face neutral. How could he make John understand? Something came to his mind. It seemed like a silly thing to say but John said to trust the _something_ on the inside.

"I'm… **fine**." Benedict said as he waited for a reaction.

"You only say you're fine when you're the opposite. What's wrong; just answer yes or no casually do you understand?" John asked.

Benedict closed his eyes with relief then opened them. He swallowed before saying, "Yes."

"Are you in immediate danger?" John asked.

Benedict thought briefly, "No," he said.

The soldier in the front seat looked at him from the front view driver's mirror. He seemed suspicious. "But we should be arriving soon." Benedict added in a casual voice. The soldier seemed to look away now.

"There's someone in the jeep with you that you do not trust." John stated as fact.

"**Yes,** the heat isn't too bad." Benedict responded.

"Trust yourself Sherlock," John did not notice that he had not said Benedict. Benedict did and frowned.

"Do you have a weapon that you can discreetly reach?" John asked.

"No," Benedict said plainly. He was distracted as he thought about the name Sherlock in his mind.

He heard John curse quietly. John did not say anything to Benedict for two minutes. Benedict heard him speaking with someone else.

"Four vehicles of agents are on their way to escort that one. One of the persons in the vehicle that is coming, you can trust with your life. They are just starting their journey so be careful." John hesitated.

"How are you doing physically?" John hoped that the flashbacks did not start.

Benedict swallowed again, "Don't worry, as I said, I'm fine."

There was silence for a few moments as both men listened to the other breathe.

"Listen carefully, someone that cares about you, taught you to fight when you were younger. If all else fails. If you don't know who to trust. Fight and run away from everyone. I will find you but it's critical that you keep that mobile on your body. Put it somewhere not obvious. It's also critical that you stay awake and drink as much fluids as you can. Do you understand?" John asked with concern in his voice.

"Yes," Benedict said simply. His headache was coming back. He licked his dry lips again and looked longingly at the water. He would not drink that one that was offered. Something inside told him not to.

John hesitated, "I'm on my way."

"I know," Benedict said weakly.

Both lines disconnected. Somehow, he knew that John was speaking the truth.

* * *

Preview

Ten minutes later and Benedict's headache returned with a vengeance. John had said that name to him several times. Sherlock. John had corrected himself several more times. Benedict said the word out loud for the first time.

"Sherlock," Benedict whispered to himself.

"URGgggg!" Benedict growled while holding his head. He felt like someone took a knife a stabbed through his temple. His hands clutched his head. His mind filled with one word.

**SHERLOCK** – SHERLOCK – **Sherlock** – Sherlock- sherlock- sherl…

He groaned as the mountains, trees, and road faded away. Everything turned into a gray nothingness.

Suddenly he was in a room standing by a wall as he looked and listened to a stylishly dressed, tall woman with pale skin and dark hair. Leaning against the woman, there was a skinny and pale-skinned child, who had the darkest curly hair.

* * *

Update soon.

You that know me know that I am a bit unpredictable , so hold on. Fair warning. :)

Love to all.

Zacha


	41. Chapter 41

**Benedict story**

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 41

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. hjohn302 (Thanks for the multiple post, please BREATHE), MapleleafCameo (sorry, more tension ahead), Taylor501 (We'll see if you're correct about the storm clouds), gemstone1234 (Thanks love, here is your update.), Socalrose (Thanks for multiple post, you have some interesting theories, we will see.) madscientistsuz, (Mycroft in jeans, yep, I would pay to see that!), Puky2012 (Don't mean to leave you guessing. Some answers are here some to come.), hollowgirl15 (Welcome :) ), Prothoe (It was an interesting week, your kind words were like a warm blanket, thanks), eohippus (Thanks for the multiple post, I love the blue jean line myself, I think I chuckled when I thought of it.), Jenna Yemowa (Thanks for your kind comments, have fun), Voldemort101 (Thanks for your kind words, I appreciate you )**Thank you. Love and hugs. **

**Thank you** ; Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, BritLitChick , Miriza, gemstone1234 , hanging in there , Guest #3, Burning Phoenix, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hjohn302, ShiverandShamy, Lunita28, Voldemort101, bruderlein, Prothoe, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hjohn302, Kitiara88, Pencilx , Warm-Glow, Jenna Yemowa, , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Love to all**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

*****Warning:** Implied abuse, nothing graphic still a T

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It is a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

**Enjoy**

Sherlock

Ben

Sherlock

Ben

* * *

"**_Do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. _**

**_Teach them to your children and your children's children."_** ~ **Deuteronomy 4:9**

* * *

Ten minutes later and Benedict's headache returned with a vengeance. John had said that name to him several times. Sherlock. John had corrected himself several more times. Benedict said the word out loud for the first time.

"Sherlock," Benedict whispered to himself.

"URGgggg!" Benedict growled while holding his head. He felt like someone took a knife and stabbed through his temple. His hands clutched his head. His mind filled with one word.

**SHERLOCK** – SHERLOCK – **Sherlock** – Sherlock- sherlock- sherl…

He groaned as the mountains, trees, and road faded away. Everything turned into a gray nothingness.

Suddenly he was in a room standing by a wall as he looked and listened to a stylishly dressed, tall woman with pale skin and dark hair. Leaning against the woman, there was a skinny and pale-skinned child, who had dark curly hair.

* * *

**_Flash Back to Childhood_**

A young Sherlock Holmes was sitting curled on a couch with his mother. She was reading to him. It was a science journal. Except for stories about pirates, he did not seem interested in children books anymore. He saw more and more flaws of logic in them. She was sure he saw the same flaws of logic with the pirate stories but his need for excitement made him overlook them.

She kissed the top of his dark curly hair. The seven year old child looked up at his Mum and giggled before returning his eyes to the book. He could read but liked it when his Mummy or Mycroft read to him.

Her son was bored quite easily. He was a challenge for all the household staff, but not for her or Mycroft. They both seemed to know how to handle his abundance of energy. She had long ago accepted that both of her sons were unique. Both were brilliant, with genius level intelligence. Both had analytical minds.

Sherlock had an uncanny ability to see patterns.

Mycroft had a similarly uncanny ability to predict patterns.

The brothers were very close and so much alike. However, there were differences. Mycroft was quiet and stoic by nature with all except his little brother. Sherlock seemed to be the only one who could produce a smile out of Mycroft. Her eldest son seemed to take everything in. He seemed to know the perfect thing to say at all times. Her husband was proud of Mycroft and liked to parade him in front of important government officials and friends who all liked him.

In contrast, her husband thought that Sherlock was a constant source of embarrassment. She loved both her sons equally but sympathized with Sherlock's curiosity. She was the same way as a child. Her curious nature caused her to always seek the answers to questions that most people never even asked. It caused her to be one of only three female scientists currently in Europe at the time.

Correction.

Retired scientist, her husband insisted that she retire and be, as he had phrased it, a full time mother as the convention of the time insisted.

Therefore, she yielded to convention, at least partially.

The other women in her social circle thought that she was a bit of a freak. When they wanted to talk about their children and husbands, she did as well but she also wanted to talk about the current events, politics, and the latest discoveries.

Her husband loved the fact that she could converse with dignitaries and the head of states and countries and carry on an intelligent conversation. Of course, she was never allowed to know more than him. At least that is what they pretended. She was not sure why she put up with it. Maybe a part of her did not want to be different anymore.

Her husband controlled everything down to the detail, including their boys.

Her husband insisted that both boys be employed in government work. Mycroft quickly agreed to whatever his father directed him. Fourteen year old Mycroft was seven years older than his brother was. The fourteen year old already acted like a little adult. Although he was still young, he was a born diplomat.

Sherlock was the opposite emotionally. He was emotionally open, curious, and full of warmth and joy. He was always smiling or giggling. He was a practical joker with his older brother as the target most of the time. He often would verbalize his observations at dinner parties or in front of their friends. Sherlock insisted he wanted to be either a pirate or a scientist.

He was a cause of embarrassment for Mr. Holmes the senior.

Her son's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"You're worried about something Mummy." Sherlock's blue–gray eyes pierce into her similarly colored eyes. His mother sighed. She had learned long ago that lying to him was not an option. He would know.

She often thought that he would make a better police officer than a scientist with his ability to see truths that people tried to hide.

Mrs. Miranda Holmes looked lovingly at her son. She raised one hand to tenderly caress the side of his face as she smiled sadly. He smiled in return.

"I don't want to leave you son." She admitted honestly, "Grandmother should not need me longer than a week. I would prefer to take you along."

The truth was Sherlock was anxious as well. It was the first time that they were separated for any length of time. Worse, Mycroft was away at a young leaders' conference for four days and Daddy was still upset about the dinner party. Sherlock announced to the party that Mrs. McMullen was having an affair. Mr. McMullen stared opened mouth. Mrs. McMullen smirked.

Mommy had explained that it was not socially acceptable to blurt out facts such as he had, but the young Holmes knew that most of the people in that room already knew what he said. Besides, Mr. McMullen was having an affair as well. Why was it so bad to say it then?

"Don't worry Mummy, I am not a baby anymore. I'll be alright." He said it with more confidence than he felt. The truth was, lately the way father looked at him when no one was around scared him.

"Sweetheart, your driver is outside, you need to leave now." Sherlock heard his father's voice float in from the other room.

"Yes dear," she said loudly sighing. She was an educated woman. She was irritated that her husband insisted that their chauffeur drive her. She was capable of driving herself. She had married into the Holmes family old money and had tried to adjust herself likewise, but although she loved her husband, sometimes she felt, trapped.

She tried to be respectful to her husband but by nature, she was independent. She sympathized with Sherlock; he had an independent spirit as well.

She stood and closed the book. She took Sherlock by the hand as she slowly walked through the long mansion to get to the front door. There was the gentle tapping of her blue colored high-heeled shoes on the marble floors.

Before she stepped outside, she whispered to her son as she knelt to the floor. Her hand swept his hair out of his face. It was getting too long. She could not help but smile. Her blue colored suit perfectly in place, her long dark curly hair swept up and pinned. It was a contrast to her pale skin.

"Time for a haircut," Mrs. Holmes said to her son.

"I have to grow it out, pirates have long hair and a beard," Sherlock said as his little hands came on his skinny hips and he swayed back and forth demonstrating his pirate dance.

Miranda's eyebrows came up as she smiled widely. "Needs a bit of work dear," she said with amusement.

"It's perfect Mummy," Sherlock said as he wiggled his eyebrows and gave one last thrust of his hips. This earned a laugh from his Mummy. Sherlock was happy. He was trying to lighten his Mum's mood. She tried to hide the fact that she has been unhappy lately, but he knew. Sherlock did not know how, but he seemed to **know** things.

The real smile left as a fake smile came. Sherlock knew the difference; she knew he knew, they both chose to pretend.

"Can you do something for me darling?" She quietly asked her son as she looked into his eyes.

"Yes, Mummy," Sherlock said proud that his Mummy would trust him with something.

"I am so proud of your mind. I want you to always think and see." She paused with a smile, "but…"

"But I should try to not say everything that comes to my mind." Sherlock said suddenly serious.

His mother smiled, "Yes and with your father, um…"

"Say yes Sir, and stay quiet and out of his way." Sherlock finished thoughtfully.

"Precisely dear." His mother kissed him. She looked at him one last time and walked away.

Miranda Holmes walked up to the car and spoke quietly so that no one could hear but her husband. "I can take Sherlock with me. He is not, and will never be any trouble to me."

"He must learn to behave as a Holmes without you or Mycroft around to intercede for him." Mr. Holmes looked down at his wife with a look that told her that he would not yield. Still, she had to try.

"He is a child." She reminded him.

"He's a Holmes," her husband said as his hand gripped the metal handle of the car, opening it for his wife. He gave her a reassuring smile as she left. She nodded and easily slid into the back seat. She glanced right to her son. He smiled at her as the car started. She returned a worried smile as the car drove away.

Sherlock looked toward the car his mother was in as it vanished down the long driveway to the gated property.

His father's smile left as soon as he knew that his wife could no longer see him. He kept his back to Sherlock as he thought. He thought to himself about the sacrifices that he made for his family. He had both of his son's futures planned like all good fathers. Mycroft was coming along as planned but Sherlock needed to be better controlled. His wife was always protecting him.

Both of his sons and his wife had a genius IQ. Mycroft and Miranda knew their place but Sherlock was entirely too independently spirited. He broke his wife of that independence. He would break Sherlock. He loved to control others. He was the head of his home, Sherlock would learn this fact.

Sherlock would learn. He wanted to humiliate his own father. He would ask questions that only Mycroft or his wife could answer, knowing things that no child had a right to know. That was probably why he was so disliked by the other children. He was a freak.

Mr. Holmes considered the fact that he was an intelligent man. He had an above average IQ himself, why should he feel stupid around his own child. He stood straighter. Mr. Holmes thought to himself. He was an important man; men trembled in his presence.

The child was a constant source of aggravation. Maybe it was time his youngest son learn - fear.

Mr. Holmes stared at the garden. He would take his son for a walk at the remote side of the garden and property. He would even take the entire day off of work. That was something he NEVER did. Sherlock was lucky to have a father like him.

He would spend a lot of time with his son the coming week. They would be no one to interrupt him. Sherlock needed to be taught once and for all, who was in charge. He needed to stop being so emotional. All that smiling, laughter and giggling grated on his nerves. He allowed his wife to smile but that was more than enough emotional display in HIS home.

It was time to make the boy into a man.

Mr. Holmes the senior, turned slowly. He stared at his son, Sherlock. A predatory smile came on his face.

Sherlock looked at his father. The tall skinny lad stood in the doorway of the beautiful mansion on the lovely manicured garden. Sherlock noticed his father's face. He saw all the details of it and understood.

Young Sherlock's smile left. He did not notice that he stepped back as his father stepped toward him.

* * *

"**_Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake._**"~ **Napoleon Bonaparte **

* * *

The scene faded and the gray nothingness came again. Sound filtered through the mental haze. Benedict blinked away the confusion.

Benedict heard the voice of a soldier calling him. He now realized that he had collapsed back. His head lay on the leather seat. He was covered in sweat. His heart was pounding , his body shaking. He brushed the hands off of him. Two soldiers looked at him with concern. One like a predator.

"Are you OK?" The soldier beside him asked.

"Quite." He said. He willed his body to stop shaking.

"Perhaps it's the heat. I'll take my jacket off." He disliked the shaky edge in his voice. He took off his jacket. He closed his eyes for several minutes as his body and mind calmed. He finally felt steady enough to open his eyes. He looked around and frowned. A moment of panic arrived when he realized that he did not have his phone.

"My phone?" He asked as calmly as possible.

The soldier next to him spoke. "Leman, you have it. You told me to give it to you when he became unresponsive remember?"

The soldier in the front passenger seat spoke up now, "Yes that's right. I'll keep it so that it will be safe if you should faint again. Here drink some water."

Anger flared, it overshadowed the previous anxiety. Benedict eyes narrowed.

"I'll keep my own phone," Benedict held out his hand, his eyes became like steel. He decided that if the soldier did not give him the phone, he would physically take it from him, whatever that meant.

The soldier hesitated. Everyone in the vehicle's attention was on him. He handed the phone back to Benedict. He put the phone in his front trouser pocket. After a slight hesitation, he took out the document he wrote his mental reminders on and wrote two more words on it.

One was…

**Sherlock**?

The other word…

**Mycroft?**

He hesitated yet again then wrote an additional word in bold with a question mark behind the third word.

**BENEDICT?**

He then put the document in his other trouser pocket.

His mind wondered for several minutes before a voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Will you drink the water now, you've already fainted." The soldier asked again.

"I did not faint, I lost consciousness and no I prefer tea, I'll wait." The truth was he wanted nothing more than to drink it but would not.

"Here," the soldier beside him spoke. He opened a cooler and took out two bottles of sodas. They were both cold.

He held out both to Benedict for him to choose the flavor he wanted. Benedict dislike soda but now it seemed like liquid gold to him. He chose one. He looked carefully at the bottle cap. It appeared to be sealed. The young soldier next to him started to drink. Benedict looked in the young soldier's eyes.

He had a choice to make. Ben made it. He opened the bottle and drank greedily. He did not stop until the glass bottle was empty. The young soldier looked at him with raised eyebrows.

Benedict shrugged his shoulders.

The young soldier smiled and took out another one. Benedict for the first time since being separated from John, smiled back. He nodded his thanks.

Benedict sipped this one slower as he tried to make it last. He leaned back on the leather seat careful to stay awake despite the fact that his eyes were heavy. He turned his head as he noticed the end of the forest and the beginning of a treeless area of the country with mountains in the background. It was slightly warmer and he opened one more button on his shirt.

Benedict's head was turned. He was deep in thought about the vision he just had. Therefore, he did not notice the occasional glare that came from the soldier in the front seat. However, the young soldier did and frowned. He had noticed the looks being directed at their _guest_. Doubt started to fill the mind of the young soldier as he wondered to himself how much he really knew about Leman.

* * *

A/N: Multiple chapters coming the late weekend.

Love to all, Zacha


	42. Chapter 42

**Benedict story**

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 42

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. MapleleafCameo, Taylor501, Socalrose , Flounder65, hjohn302, Voldemort101, Prothoe , BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Puky2012. And Guests. **Thank you for your comments, and encouragement. **

**Thank you** ; Jenna Yemowa, eohippus, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, gemstone1234 , hanging in there , Guest #3, Burning Phoenix, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hjohn302, ShiverandShamy, Lunita28, Voldemort101, bruderlein, Prothoe, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hjohn302, Pencilx , Warm-Glow, Jenna Yemowa, , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Love and hugs. **

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

Warning. A little rough at some parts.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It is a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

Sorry, I meant for this to be posted late weekend. This is late, late weekend - anyway, if awake enjoy.

Love 2 all.

* * *

"_**A man with no enemies is a man with no character."**_ ~ Paul Newman

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Sebastian picked up the mobile as it vibrated in his pocket. He easily picked it up with one hand as he maneuver the all terrain vehicle with the other.

"Yes," he listened as he automatically drove to his next destination.

"How close are you?" His next question was spoken. He glanced at his watch and smiled.

"Tell them _Hi_ for me. Nothing says I love you like a bullet in the back. Bring me Doctor Watson; I would like to say _Hi_ personally. And, as for Holmes, he is not to be injured…permanently that is. But, if he was to try to…say… escape, you can have a little _fun. _In fact, I **insist** that you have fun."

"He prepared to disconnect the call. Pass the message on to our little spy. Thank you Hamza."

Sebastian smiled as he picked up the bottle and put it to his lips with his free hand. He sighed contently before gulping the cool, clear liquid . He wiped the few drops that ran freely down the side of his mouth with his arm.

It was almost too easy. He would have to kill Hamza, of course. It was a shame really but necessary so that no one would be able to trace Holmes injuries back to him. Moriarty would do more than a shallow cut to his arm. He glanced at the word Ben, carved into his arm by Moriarty.

He heard of their spy, he was a real psychopath. He would be carried away with Holmes. He was in fact counting on it. He smiled widely as he picked up the mobile again.

"Hello Mr. Moriarty, Things are going according to plan…" Sebastian spoke as his vehicle disappeared into the thick forest.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Kevin quickly walked into the conference room and instead of waiting to be acknowledged like he usually do, he walked up to the agent that was in charge and demanded his attention.

"Sir, I'm sorry but I need to speak with you now." The agent looked at the young analyst slightly annoyed but motioned with his head to indicate that he would be back. They walked a distance away from everyone then Kevin spoke.

"Three things have come to my attention and I believe them to be connected. The first is that the army entered a heavily treed area. We lost visual for fifteen minutes, when it came back; five of the vehicles had disappeared. They are no longer heading for the mansion."

"The second is that I timed Holmes and company travel, and even taking into account any normal delays, they should have reached the other safe-house by this time."

"Finally, I took the liberty to contact the safe-house in question, there is no response. Sir that was as secure a location as this one. I know the analyst in that safe house, he would never leave his post without notification for any reason. I think that there is a leak, Sir."

Agent Santos looked at Patel for a moment as visions of power and promotion danced through his head. He was the fastest rising agent in his section. If he managed to save the day and take all credit, it would be an event he could use in his long list of his accomplishments. He quickly made a plan. If he delayed so that things looked worse than they were, then came in and saved Holmes...

His thoughts flew as he resisted an urge to smile. It would work; he had done it before many times. Of course, some of his people would die because of his delay but in his experience not that many more. He justified himself by saying that the other agents and their allies knew the risk of their profession.

"Does anyone else know about this yet?" Agent Santos asked as he thought further.

"No sir, I thought that you should know first since you are in charge. I will send it out now and make the calls." Kevin said as he tried to stand still and not bounce with the nervous energy he felt.

"Don't say anything to anyone, delay sending the transmission by one hour then you may send it. I will contact everyone personally and lead any recovery if that is needed." Agent Santos already dismissed the unimportant man in his mind.

"Sir, that is against protoc…" Kevin stopped talking as he saw the look in Agent Santos eyes. "Um, yes Sir…of course Sir." Kevin attempted a fake smile as he asked, "Do you need me to do anything else Sir?"

"No," Santos waved his hand generously as he dismissed the insect of a man. His thoughts returned to his plans. He watched Patel walk away with his shoulders slumped in defeat. He smiled to himself. He enjoyed making other people feel small. For some reason this made him feel like an important man.

"Scurry away little insect," Santos said as Patel disappeared out the door. He turned his attention back to his men as he walked back.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Captain Magoro disconnected the call from his phone line. He frowned. He would have been on site another three hours but not now. He was standing by the mansion door. He called two people over.

"We have to hurry," the Captain said. "I just received a call."

"We have to move our time frame up by how many hours Captain?" One of the two persons asked.

Captain Magoro's frown deepened. "Not hours, minutes. Thirty two minutes exactly." The Captain looked at his watch and sighed, "Thirty one now." For a few seconds, no one said a word then suddenly, mass movement began.

One soldier ran off and shouted. Everyone seemed to start running at once.

Captain Magoro spoke to the second person. "Evacuate everyone not required. Use…" he looked at an electronic map, "…use the South-East road for at least fifteen clicks. Hurry."

The remaining Agent nodded and said, "I'll remain behind with you Sir." Magoro nodded his approval. The Agent ran off as well. He glanced at his watch again as he looked at the activities around him.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

_**Ten Minutes Earlier.**_

Patel sat at his computer as he monitored everything. He thought to himself. He did his job. He reported to his immediate superior. He did his job; he thought again more insistently this time.

He sighed as he took up the photograph of the man of the hour, Holmes. He looked it over. He stopped at the eyes. They seemed to pierce into you even though it was only a photo. Patel continued to think dangerously. If that were he in the photo, what would he want everyone to do to find him, Kevin wondered?

"Kevin you could not possibly be thinking of doing what I think you are going to do, are you?" He asked himself in a whisper.

"You're insane!" He informed himself again in a whisper.

Patel got up and walked away from the computer before stopping, deep in thought.

Patel walked back to his computer and pushed several buttons. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes and looked at the two agents that walked out of the kitchen. He gave a smile. They nodded back as they walked to the door to enter the lower level.

He grabbed his earpiece and a small laptop as he walked casually to the bathroom. He locked himself in and looked around. He opted to sit on the floor cross-legged and power up the equipment. "Goodbye career," he whispered. He took a deep breath as he made two important calls and remotely transmitted the data. He hesitated and then made one more call. The line answered.

"Sir, I hope that you meant it when you said to call for any reason. There are some things going on here that I thought that you should know about…"

* * *

**_Current Day_**

******_Current Time_**  


The sound of jeeps shot through the forest disrupting the quiet. Jeep after jeep took the roads that turned to dirt as dust rose up in a heavy cloud to announce their soon arrival.

Captain Magoro looked at the approaching agent from his position far away on the forest floor. Most of his soldiers had left with only thirty men and two agents left behind. He looked through his binoculars. The agent ran low to the ground and crouched beside Magoro.

"Everything is in place Sir. Everyone is out." The agent said.

He nodded as he looked at the mansion one last time. "Is everyone left ready to go?"

"Yes Sir," The agent said.

"It's time for us to retreat as well and join the others. Tell everyone to go when the signal starts." The captain said as he pushed himself up and started a low run. The agent ran on his heels close behind.

"Sir what is the signal?" The agent asked in between breaths. They ran fully upright now. Forest, flowers, and rocks passed by unnoticed as the grass and moss stifled the crunch of their boots against the ground.

"You won't be able to miss it," Captain Magoro said easily despite the jog. Their bodies disappearing into the forest.

Twenty minutes later, the sound of explosions were still heard as the last vehicle left. "Captain Magoro," the soldier driving him stated matter of fact with raised eyebrows, "You were right. The signal was hard not to notice. I hope Mr. Moriarty wanted to redecorate."

Captain Magoro gave a slight smile as they disappeared in a trail of dust down the long road and into the forest.


	43. Chapter 43

**Benedict story**

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 43

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**Thank you**. **Love and hugs. **

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

**Warning.** A little rough at some parts.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It is a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

Enjoy.

Love 2 all.

* * *

_**"Have the courage to say no. Have the courage to face the truth. Do the right thing because it is right. **_

_**These are the magic keys to living your life with integrity."**_ ~W. Clement Stone

* * *

_**Two Hours Earlier**_

_**Current Day**_

He looked at the mountains, it was beautiful with the turquoise sky behind it. Benedict leaned back on the leather seat as he took the last sip of his soda. They were entering an area with heavy high bush and a forest area pushed back from the woods. The temperature almost immediately dropped to a more comfortable degree after leaving the long stretch of open space.

"We're almost to the safe-house Sir." The young soldier said with a concerned look on his face.

The young soldier had noticed that his eyes were heavy and his speech more slurred. He just did not look good. Against Leman's protest, the young soldier had contacted Agent Myers with his concerns. A man she gave her mobile phone over to had instructed the young soldier to keep him awake and hydrated.

Benedict eyes closed. "SIR!" the young soldier tapped his shoulder firmly with his hand.

Benedict's eyes flew open. He blinked then rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He looked around as his eyes rested on the soldier sitting next to him.

"Sir, maybe we could talk that might help you stay awake," he said.

"Sl…Slap me if you have to," he slurred, "but…" Ben raised his eyelids in an attempt to stay awake.

"But, don't let me sl…" What was he going to say? Benedict thought he heard shouting and felt hands on him, but he could not be sure as the darkness claimed him.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

_**Earlier**_

Twelve vehicles flew through streets and highways. Three were coming from the mansion with John Watson in the middle jeep. Four were coming on their way through Tangier. Three were on their way to the safe-house. And two vehicles were attempting to be low keyed as it drove through the streets of Morocco after crossing the border.

Doctor John Watson drove in the jeep as his thoughts went to Sherlock. He started out almost two hours behind. At the speed they were traveling, he would be with Sherlock in a little over an hour. He looked as they were coming to the end of the forest now. He could see some mountains. He rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt. The temperature was rising.

A tourist named Mr. Jones and his wife entered the country for a holiday in Casa or Dar el Baida, more popularly known as Casablanca with two friends. Five minutes later, another vehicle full of friends crossed the border as well. They met with the first group that passed ten minutes later.

Mr. Jones and his wife drove quickly on. The tourist sported blue jeans that were pressed with a perfect crease. His hand held and umbrella despite the fact that there were no clouds in the sky.

* * *

_**Two Hours Earlier**_

_**Current Day**_

Benedict heard sounds that floated into his mind. He with great difficulty opened his eyes. he stared in disbelief as he noticed a gun pointed at his head. They were pulled to the side of the road. The young soldier had his gun out and pointed at the head of the soldier named Leman. Leman has his gun pointed at Benedict.

Benedict shook his head and winced. His nose was wet. He reflectively dabbed under his nose with the back of his hand. He wiped away both the wet and some of the dried blood. A small amount still dripped out of one nostril. It was as if he had a nosebleed while he was sleeping. His mind started to clear now. He looked at the driver who was slumped on the ground. He was at an odd angle to his body. His open vacant eyes let Benedict know that he was dead.

Benedict's mind without his permission took everything in, in seconds he made a deduction.

_Stopped to use the bathroom or loo break or check on me- _

_Leman broke the driver's neck- It was silent- _

_He did not expect the young soldier to be a threat- _

_He surprised him by being quick to get his gun out- _

_I had somehow fallen asleep- which was a bit not good- _

_I have been unresponsive for at least twenty minutes judging by the dried blood on my nose and neck-_

_Leman took advantage probably telling the driver to pull over for a few minutes for bathroom break and so that he could make sure that, I was alright_.

Benedict looked in Leman's eyes and frowned.

_He looks entirely too confident, _Ben thought_, more of his comrades are on the way-_

_**More** than a bit not good. _

He looked in Leman's eyes while he reached into his pocket discreetly. He pushed the button to John. He hoped that even though he could not talk that John would hear what was happening and know that he was in trouble. His body was slumped to the side and back. He hoped that he still looked dazed enough for Leman not to suspect anything. The two seemed to be occupied yelling at each other.

"… I would rather not shoot you but just knock you out. You were one of the few people who were kind to me." The killer meant what he said. Something about the young soldier reminded him of his brother. He would do what was necessary but preferred not to kill the boy. He had shown courage and surprised him with his quick wit.

"You know I cannot do that Sir, he is my responsibility now." The young soldier tried to move closer as he came toward the two. A warning shake of the head came from Leman, this stopped him.

"What is he to you anyway, you do not know him. I'll knock you out to make the story believable. I'll even give you some money for your troubles. With your father dying, doesn't your mother and sisters need money. Your salary is not enough. I can also see that you get more money in the future. You won't ever have to do anything but look the other way and pretend not to see things that occur as you are instructed. All your problems will be over if you just look the other way, cooperate with me, Abdul."

Abdul had a choice to make and he quickly made it.

Benedict frowned and looked at the young soldier named Abdul. Abdul glanced at Benedict locking eyes with him for a fraction of a second then back at the other soldier. Benedict saw the answer in his eyes.

"Do the right thing because it is right," Abdul said.

"What," Leman said slightly annoyed.

"Do the right thing because it is right," Abdul repeated. "My father use to say that to me often. Maybe your father should have told you the same. We've had sodas together, I'm afraid we've bonded." Abdul took one-step closer as he took advantage of Leman's slight distraction.

Leman's face became like stone as he opened the door to where Sherlock was with one hand as his other hand stayed the gun on Ben's head. The gun moved slightly away from Ben as he half-dragged Benedict out the car.

A lot occurred in the next five seconds.

Benedict took advantage of the moment that the gun was off of his head to elbow Leman. Benedict wanted to tackle him but his normally graceful movements were jerky and uncoordinated, his legs rubbery under him as he collapsed. Leman's gun accidentally shifted toward Ben's chest.

Abdul intervened somehow pulling or knocking the gun away from Benedict's chest with the gun discharging. Benedict lay on the ground as he attempted to get up but his legs could not carry his weight and he collapsed on the ground again as the two men struggled briefly. The sound of flesh being struck was heard then a grunt of pain before Abdul lay motionless on the ground.

Leman was breathing hard and looked at both Benedict and the unconscious Abdul. He heard Several jeeps coming at one time and smiled. He looked at his watch. A little early. They would be there in ten to fifteen minutes. Plenty of time.

He looked at Benedict with anger. He dragged him into the bushes. Benedict tried to resist but in his weakened state all that he managed to do was to slow Leman down. He was not allowed to scar him but hurting and bruising was allowed. In fact, from the text that he received, it was encouraged. Benedict tried to fight back but it was as if his body and mind was disconnected. His movements were still jerky, weak, and too slow. It was not even a challenge for Leman.

Benedict laid face up in the dirt and winced when Leman grabbed him roughly by the shirt collar and pulled him up until they were nose to nose.

"D...Do you mine; your breath is rather offensive." Benedict said weakly as he blinked away the pain in his head. A part of Benedict told him to shut up. He did not have time to wonder why strangely, that part sounded a lot like John. Another part said to fight back in any way he could.

Leman looked at him strangely for a second then smiled. "You spoiled my playtime. I cannot do what I wanted but let us still have fun." He quickly hit Benedict in the abdomen three times. Pain shot through his body as each punch became more aggressive. The uncoordinated punch that Benedict attempted was easily grabbed, as Leman's other hand delivered a particularly brutal blow to the lower abdomen.

Benedict doubled over and he bit his lips to keep from crying out. A grunt of pain still escaped. He fought the nausea now as he swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I have to remember to not damage that pretty face of yours." He turned Benedict back on his back and gloated, "You're some important man, aren't you. How does it feel to be under my control?"

Benedict whispered something low and incoherent. Leman put his face next to Benedict with a look of satisfaction.

"Something you want to say, beg for mercy maybe?" Leman loved it when they begged. It sent a tingle through him whenever he had power over another living thing.

Leman put his face next to Benedict turning his head slightly to be able to hear. Benedict took every reserve of energy that remained in his body and used his head to hit Leman in the nose. A crunch sound was heard along with a yelp of pain from Leman. Leman pulled back reflectively as is hand came to his bleeding nose. Benedict also managed to spit in his face before collapsing and rolling on his side to clutch his head. His already hurting head was now ablaze in pain. He could not stop from moaning now.

Benedict preoccupied with pain, never noticed that Leman put his face next to Benedict. A murderous look crossed Leman's eyes. Leman wiped at the blood that was trickling down his nose and said evilly.

"Maybe we do have time to play after all," Leman flipped Benedict violently on his stomach. Benedict through his haze of pain noticed his body being moved. He heard disjointed words and thought he heard a gun. He felt his body being moved again. Benedict allowed the pain to take him away. His eyes closed again as a grey nothingness claimed him.

* * *

A/N: I originally had two more chapters but…you guessed it. I am rewriting them. Hopefully, up soon. Love to all.

Zacha


	44. Chapter 44

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 44

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. Socalrose (Thanks for the multiple post, yea for Abdul!), Puky2012 (Doing the right thing is not always easy). Taylor501 (Thanks I am not trying to kill you :) ), eohippus (Thanks for the multiple post. I am glad that you liked the flash backs.), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. I love _Mr. Jones'_ umbrella.) , MapleleafCameo (Show downs to come but between who?), hjohn302 (Thanks for your kind words, LoL) And Guests. **Thank you for your comments, and encouragements. This was a bit of a stinky week, you kept me going. :)**

**Thank you** ; Flounder65, Voldemort101, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, gemstone1234 , hanging in there , Guest #3, Burning Phoenix, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hjohn302, ShiverandShamy, Lunita28, Voldemort101, bruderlein, Prothoe, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hjohn302, Pencilx , Warm-Glow, Jenna Yemowa, , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Love to all**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It is a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

**A/N:** Hi everyone. A portion of my story disappeared off my computer. I looked and looked and could not find it. I am not sure what I did. I wanted to cry but decided to do a forced re-write instead. So, I took a few hours earlier today and started again. I will post every day for the next three days.

Tea and Cookies.

* * *

"_**I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances for their good characters, and my enemies for **_

_**their good intellects."**_ ~ Oscar Wilde

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Earlier**_

Mycroft picked up his mobile. He put it to his ear and said his automatic yes. He heard shouting and heavy breathing then muffled bits of conversation. Anthea glanced at him as he muted his phone line. Sherlock was in trouble and apparently made a call hoping that it would be obvious that he needed help. Mycroft doubted that he was trying to call him with his memory loss. He probably was trying to call John and pushed the wrong button. He heard Anthea pick up the other mobile line as she asked.

"Mr. Holmes is in desperate need of assistance, how close are you now?" She said as one shoulder held the mobile and her freed fingers danced across her laptop.

Mycroft mouth flattened into a tight line and the normally expressionless man frowned as he listened to the voiced and struggle on the other mobile line.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Kevin Patel He sat on the floor cross-legged again. He changed position every so often. First, it was the floor. Then he sat on the loo. Then it was the floor again. He stood straight and stretched his back. He finished talking to the first safe house now. He finally was able to contact them. Kevin was shocked when he heard what happened. He was now glad the he had the courage to do what he knew in his heart should be done. It would have been worst for everyone especially Holmes if he did not.

Kevin was shaking as he finished typing on the computer and hit send. He kept the equipment powered up and was debating whether he should bother to hide it or walk out with his head held high. He vaguely wondered how far Agent Santos would go and if he would actually shoot him. He had already proven that the welfare of others was not exactly his priority.

He had been in and out of that bathroom all morning. There were four bathrooms, two on the lower hidden level and two on the first level. Maybe no one would notice, he told himself reassuringly. Agent Santos would be receiving orders very soon. At that point, there would be no disguising what he had done.

Kevin opted to hide the laptop in the supply closet in the loo under some bath towels. He then pulled out his Smartphone and turned on the power. He would continue to work from the phone. He had already blackened the computer screens remotely so that no one could see the transmissions. Kevin saw something and smile in relief. He remotely turned off the sensors so that Agent Santos would not be aware of what was about to occur.

He straightened his body a little more confident now as he walked toward the door. Opening it, he ran bodily into Santos. The sounds of their bodies colliding and air being expelled by the younger man's lungs were heard. He was about to apologize even though technically it WAS Santos who walked into him, when Santos manhandled the skinnier man. He violently shoved Kevin back into the bathroom and shut the door. He body slammed him against the wall and his elbow came up and mildly choked the younger man.

Kevin eyes went wide with shock as his brain tried to catch up and process what was happening.

"What do you have to say for yourself insect?" Santos asked. Only choking sounds came out of Kevin. Santos realized with irritation that he would have to let him go so that he could respond. Someone was talking outside the door but Santos was so enraged he did not pay it attention.

Kevin started immediately to cough as his brain received oxygen. His quick mind thought of three possible responses while he coughed. The first, he could do the denial thing. The second, he could confess all and get his murder over with. He now realized that there was a third option and he chose it quickly.

"What… (_Cough_)… do… y… you… (_Wheeze_)… mean Sir?" Kevin tried to even out his breathing as his coughing died down. Santos thought that he was dumb. He defiantly decided to play the part.

"What happen?" Santos mocked.

"**What happened**?" Santos repeated enraged. "You know bloody well what happened! I received a call to go to the other safe-house and assist. Assist! That was supposed to be me who would find Holmes, me who saved the day. Now I am to assist like some, some ordinary agent." Santos took out his gun and pointed it at Patel stomach grinding it in roughly.

Patel bit his lips briefly and flinched at the pain. He then put on a strained smile and said. "Don't worry Sir; I am sure that you will be perfectly adequate in your duties." Patel desperately hoped that he would not embarrass himself by fainting or throwing up on the man before he shot him. The commotion outside became louder. Both men were too preoccupied to notice.

Agent Santos eyes became as cold as ice. "It's too bad that I found it necessary to shoot you multiple times. It's sad that the medic will not be able to save you." Santos' gun found its way under Kevin's tee shirt and ground more painfully into his stomach. Kevin grimaced as he bit his lips again. "It's also too bad that you kept such vital information from me. I was not able to make adequate decisions without it." Kevin heard the safety on the gun disengage and closed his eyes tightly.

A loud noise sounded in the room and a gun shot. Kevin slumped to the floor and waited for the pain to start.

* * *

"_**The natural flights of the human mind are not from pleasure to pleasure but from hope to hope."**_

~ Johnson, Samuel

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Earlier**_

Abdul stood over the body of Leman as the smoke from his pistol floated in ribbons broken up only by the slight breeze that blew. Leman lay on the ground unconscious as blood pooled under his torso.

Abdul staggered over to Holmes as he lay face down on the ground moaning softly half-conscious. He attempted to sit next to Holmes but only fell ungracefully because of his bleeding head wound.

The young soldier wiped the dirt, blood, and sweat out of his stinging eyes as his sluggish mind tried to think of what to do. He dragged himself over to Holmes and turned him on his back. Holmes moaned in pain and his eyes fluttered but he did not open them. Holmes mumbled something about Mummy and Christmas. Abdul did not understand but tried to verbally assure Holmes that everything would be OK.

"Everything is fine Sir. I'll get you some medical help soon. It's alright you're safe."Abdul prayed a quick prayer that he was not being untruthful.

He then elevated Holmes head in his lap and looked carefully to make sure that he was breathing. Abdul periodically would give whispered words of encouragement. He sighed with relief when his respirations were fast but regular. He quickly put his shaking fingers to Holmes neck and felt that his pulse was very fast but present. He could hear jeeps approaching they would be there in a few minutes.

He thought of dragging Holmes in the bushes and trying to hide but the blood trail and trail from the disturbed dirt would give their location away. Moreover, truthfully he was weaning himself and would probably become unconscious soon as well. Abdul looked to see how many bullets he had left. He put a fresh magazine in one gun while pulling out another gun.

He came up with as much of a plan as his mottled brain would allow. He had a two-part plan. Part one; He would try to hold the enemy soldiers off as long as he can. Part two; stay alive until help arrives. He had not worked out all the details of part two yet.

He hoped that they would not shoot Holmes. He would have thought that they wanted him unharmed and alive, but after Leman sadistic actions, he could not be sure of anything anymore.

He looked at Holmes for the first time. He would fix Holmes clothing to maintain his dignity before he crawled a distance closer to the road to get a better position to shoot. He would not risk walking again. If he fell and hit his already injured head, they both would have no hope.

Hope.

Abdul thought of his father. His father would not lose hope, neither would he.

As Abdul pulled he felt it in Holmes trouser pocket. The phone. How could he be so stupid. Abdul picked up the phone and pushed some numbers. He was relieved that it was answered quickly.

He spoke at lightning speed. "Captain, I have Holmes but we are both injured with hostels approaching minutes away. I have four full magazines and two guns but my aim is off." He blinked as he tried to focus. He gave the coordinates for where they were. He looked at his pocket size electronic map that he held in increasingly shaky hands. He called off the latitude and longitude of their location. He then took a shaky breath and waited for instruction.

"… Abdul, did you hear what I said?" Captain Magoro asked firmly. Abdul also thought he detected concern in his voice.

Abdul looked in the direction of the road. He heard jeeps stopping and hurried footsteps. They were there.

"… **Abdul did you hear me**?" The Captain said more urgently.

Abdul blinked slightly confused. When did the Captain speak to him? The pain in his head was worse. He frowned.

"No Sir, Sorry Sir But I am listening now." Abdul ignored the fact that he sounded as if he was slurring.

"I said do not shoot, they are our men. Do you understand?" The Captain asked a little louder.

Abdul took a few seconds before what the Captain said processed. "Don't shoot?" Abdul asked clarifying the Captain's statement.

"No Abdul, don't shoot." The Captain chuckles slightly. "Good work Abdul."

"Yes Sir, I won't shoot," Abdul said as he disconnected the call. The Captain's rare compliment did not even register. A part of him wondered if the Captain had more to say.

"**Over here!" **A voice shouted. The hurried steps came closer. Suddenly hands were on them both. He looked next to him as someone told him to let go of Holmes that it would be alright. He let go reluctantly as he kept a blurry eye on them. He relaxed when he realized that they were giving medical care. Someone gave Holmes an injection as someone else started an IV for fluids. They were doing the same with him.

"Um… OK." He opened his mouth to say that he was OK when he realized that his tongue was becoming more uncooperative.

Someone was above him asking if Abdul could drink water. When did he lay down, he wondered. He thought for a moment and decided that they probably wanted him to say something in return. He nodded then winced at the pain that the small movement caused.

He drank greedily then satisfied he nodded. He felt a needle prick his arm as it was taped in place and someone knelt beside him holing similar IV fluids.

He suddenly felt very tired. He glanced over at Holmes. His face was finally relaxed and no longer filled with the look of pain. He was no longer moaning or mumbling as if he was talking to someone. Pain medication Abdul thought.

The medic looked at the young soldier. He seemed to be trying to say something to him. He lowered his head and positioned his ear directly above his lips.

"C…Close eyes now?" Abdul whispered the question as he locked sleepy eyes with the medic.

It took him a few seconds to realize that the young soldier was asking if he could go to sleep. "Yes. Go to sleep we'll take care of you both." The medic said gently as he attempted a smile.

Abdul was asleep before the medic could finish his sentence. The medic considered all that he had seen since arriving. He wondered to himself what had occurred.


	45. Chapter 45

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 45

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It is a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

Hi everyone. A portion of my story disappeared off my computer. I looked and looked and could not find it. I am not sure what I did. I wanted to cry but decided to do a forced re-write instead. So, I took a few hours earlier today and started again. I will post every day for the next three days.

**Love to all.**

* * *

"_**The course of our lives is not determined by great, awesome decisions. Our direction is set by the little **_

_**day-to-day choices which chart the track on which we run**_**."**~ **Gordon B. Hinckley **

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Earlier**_

_The bumping of the jeep as its wheels found a small hole in the graveled road woke up Benedict with a startle gasp. The jerking motion pulled him out of another world. Pain came back to him again. His eyes opened briefly as faces floated above him. He felt a prick of a needle in his arm and the pain in his head and body receded. His eyes closed again._

_An Agent picked up his mobile and made a call._

John disconnected his mobile phone line. He held it in his right hand for a few minutes before sighing and returning it to his trouser pocket. John thought of the mobile in his pocket. He glanced at his watch as he willed the jeep to go faster. He had one of his bad feelings. He cursed under his breath. He smiled an apology to Mary when she looked at him. She smiled back as she continued to speak on her mobile.

John wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. He unbuttoned another button on his shirt and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Adler was successfully moved out of the country and airlifted. Sherlock would have also been across the border by now but they had to take a slightly longer way because of the increase in activity. His face apparently was one that many people were looking for.

John sighed again with frustration. Mary Myers looked at John then turned her attention back to her mobile phone conversation. One agent was driving the other was sitting in the front seat with a rifle ready to defend them. Similar jeeps with four soldiers were in front and another jeep with four soldiers were behind. John did not notice that his feet was tapping against the floor of the jeep.

John looked at the mountains as it rested against the turquoise sky. The sun beat down on their heads. John squinted as he glanced toward the sun then quickly looked away. It was at the highest point of the day. A part of him wished that he was in an enclosed vehicle with cool air blowing in his face. Another part of him felt guilty for desiring any comfort when Sherlock was not with him.

Some green could be seen down the narrow road. They would reach it in a little over thirty minutes. From the distance, John could not be sure, but it appeared that they would be entering an area with heavy high bush and a receding forest line.

The air that whipped pass John in the jeep helped to cool his sweat-laden skin. His thoughts were on Sherlock. He had not spoken to the soldier who had called to keep them informed of Sherlock's condition recently. Last time he contacted the soldier, Sherlock was unresponsive but breathing normally. John contacted the closest safe-house and transmitted instructions in his care based on the information and drug retrieved from the mansion.

He wondered again for the tenth time that day, if he had made the right choice.

By allowing him to go on ahead of John, Sherlock could receive proper medical care quicker than if he had waited for John to investigate the drugs that he was given. However, was that the best choice, John wondered silently.

Choices, damn them.

John leaned back as he noticed for the first time that he was tapping his feet and steeled himself as he closed his eyes. He listened to the air whip past and the slight rhythmic squeaking noise as the tires spun.

Myers disconnected the phone call and looked at John for the tenth time. She felt that it was better just to demonstrate that she was supportive rather than give false promises. She squeezed his arm but said nothing. He smiled at her, they both knew that it was forced but neither said anything about that fact. He then turned and looked at the mountains again.

There was a few minutes of relative silence before Myers mobile rang again.

"Yes," she answered. "You've recovered Holmes?" She asked the person on the other line. Myers smiled widely.

John immediately felt his heart racing. He was relieved that at least he was safe. He almost chided himself for being overly concerned. They would be able to give him the drugs now to at least temporarily control his symptoms.

John stared in her face as though staring would open up her thoughts to him and he would be able to hear both sides of the phone conversation.

"You found him where?" Mary asked.

It took every ounce of John's control not to rip the mobile out of her hand.

"_We found him close to the safe-house. We are pulling up to the house now as we speak. Two soldiers are dead, one is injured. He apparently saved Mr. Holmes from some unpleasant circumstances before collapsing again." The agent spoke in the mobile._

"_Agent Myers, Holmes was… uh… injured…" The agent began to inform Myers giving her general information._

Mary's face became blank. John knew what that meant. It was the same as someone else frowning. John's body tensed.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Kevin frowned and opened one eye then the other to find Agent Santos' body slammed up against the wall as he was held in place by Agent Thomas. Kevin blinked and stared as Santos squirmed with a similar look of shock on his face. Santos gun was on the floor.

Kevin now looked outside the bathroom door as he saw agents and soldiers flood into the building.

"Is everyone here calm," He asked but his eyes were on Santos. Santos opened his mouth to speak but decided to close it instead and nodded.

"There is a helicopter outside waiting to take you to the border. You will cross the border then a jeep will take you to the first safe-house where you will assist with reinforcements until WE manage to push back the army enough for Holmes to be safely transported here. Is any part of that not clear to you?"

Santos nodded his understanding with anger. Thomas let go of Santos and the slightly shorter man dropped to his feet. Santos glanced at Kevin then back at Thomas. His eyes then lowered and came up again.

"Yes Sir," he said as he walked out the door with his own agents and some of Thomas' agents following him.

The passageway was full of curious soldiers and agents. Thomas gave them a glance. His glance gave everyone the message and they started to disburse as the excitement died down.

Thomas frowned as he looked at Kevin. Neither said a word as he watched Patel look at the retreating personnel.

"Plan to sit there for the rest of the day?" Thomas asked with some amusement.

Kevin looked at the floor then himself. He shrugged. "Surprisingly comfortable Sir," he said as he allowed Thomas to pull him up. Kevin noticed the wince when the agent pulled him.

"Are you alright Sir?" Kevin asked with concern, as he looked the agent up and down. He was not as discreet as he would have liked.

"Well enough," Thomas said with a smile. He did not pretend not to look Patel over. "And, you?"

Kevin touched his head where a small area was swelling. He winced when he touched the inflamed area on his scalp. It was tender.

"Well enough," Patel responded using Thomas' exact words. He noticed the discarded gun and bent to pick it up when Thomas' voice stopped him. "Leave it for evidence." Kevin looked and now noticed an agent with gloves on waiting patiently outside the door.

Kevin followed behind Agent Thomas as they moved toward the conference room. "Um… Sir, do you think that he will do as told?" He knew it was not his place but he asked anyway.

"Santos will do exactly as I ask. He only does what he thinks he can get away with. He will follow my orders to the letter. I'll need a statement from you later but right now. I need you to get back to work," Thomas stopped walking for a moment. "You need to get whatever you have been communicating with me on and meet me in the conference room."

Kevin smiled a broad smile now, "Um one moment Sir." Kevin ran a few steps then walked instead when his head protested. He put back in his earpiece relieved that he did not have to hide anymore. He would need his laptop that he hid away underneath the bath towels.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Mycroft's mobile had been ringing at regular intervals. Despite Mycroft's personal concerns. There was still a government that he was responsible for. Wars to be stopped. Elections in other countries to be influenced. Mycroft's mind returned to Sherlock on regular intervals. He was determined to stop being ridiculous and use logic. To think about the things that he could control. His thoughts stubbornly still returned to Sherlock. He sighed as he once again pushed everything but logic away and tried to concentrate on his tasks.

Mycroft's mobile rang again.

"Yes," he said. No one answered for a moment but he did not repeat himself. His face showed no expression but he subconsciously reached for his umbrella that had fallen to the side of his car seat.

Anthea noticed as her eyes became wide. Anthea quickly disconnected her current call as she nodded to him and her fingers started to fly again across her Smartphone. He noticed her movements and waited with annoyance for the voice he knew he would soon hear. Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man's attempt at drama.

"Mr. Holmes the elder," Moriarty's voice traveled across the mobile line. All traces of his usual manic tone was gone. It was all business.

To be continued.

* * *

A/N: I will post at least one chapter a day for the next three days starting today. Love to hear from you, Zacha


	46. Chapter 46

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 46

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. hanging in there (Thanks for your support and concern), bruderlein (Agent Thomas rocks!), MapleleafCameo (Thanks, big smile :) ), Kitiara88 (The plot does thicken), hjohn302 (Abdul and Patel do rock, thanks for the multiple post.), gemstone1234 , (I am glad that you are enjoying.), Socalrose (Thanks for the multiple post, fathers can influence their children positively or negatively.), briongloid fiodoir ( Yeah for doing the right thing.), Kassandwich (I am glad to make you happy.), eohippus (Thanks for the multiple post. Santos did not have his _smartest _moment. ;)), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. Thank for the encouragement about the disappearing chapters, Kevin and Thomas are a good team). **Thanks to all.**

**Thank you** ; Taylor501, Puky2012, Flounder65, Voldemort101, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Burning Phoenix, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hjohn302, ShiverandShamy, Lunita28, Voldemort101, Prothoe, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hjohn302, Pencilx , Warm-Glow, Jenna Yemowa, , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , Isaldaria, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Love to all**

Chapters M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It has been a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

**Thank you for all your encouragement and support during my computer crisis. My fingers have been flying to give you extra long chapters as a way to say, **_**Thank you.**_

_**Notes**_

1. un événement épique _**means**_ an epic event

2. Adieu_**means**_ farewell

****Warning. References to abuse including child abuse. Because of that temporarily M**

**********************************Love always, Zacha**************************************

* * *

OUT of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

**I am the master of my fate:**

**I am the captain of my soul.**

**~Invictus- **William Ernest Henley

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sebastian ignored the screaming as he answered the mobile. He smiled happily, as he pulled off the bloodied gloves and wiped his hands clean.

"Yes," Sebastian said in a good mood, he felt like humming. His only regret was that he was not the one to torture Holmes. The day was looking beautiful.

Sebastian frowned as he listened. He sighed and rolled his eyes. His only comfort was that at least he would not be there in person to tell Moriarty.

He disconnected the mobile and made another call. It was answered on the second ring.

"Hello Mr. Moriarty, there is some news that I thought that you needed to know about immediately." Sebastian hesitated slightly. "Sir, there seems to have been some damage to the mansion."

Sebastian listened quietly as Moriarty inquired as to how much damage. Might as well get it over with, Sebastian thought.

"How much damage? Um… perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it was completely destroyed along with half of the army in some… um…" Sebastian cleared his throat, "… explosions."

Sebastian pulled the phone slightly from his ear. He glanced at his arm. From what he heard on the mobile line, he was glad that he was not the one standing close to Moriarty.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Mycroft's mobile had been ringing at regular intervals. Despite Mycroft's personal concerns. There was still a government that he was responsible for. Wars to be stopped. Elections in other countries to be influenced. Mycroft's mind returned to Sherlock on regular intervals. He was determined to stop being ridiculous and use logic. To think about the things that he could control. His thoughts stubbornly still returned to Sherlock. He sighed as he once again pushed everything but logic away and tried to concentrate on his tasks.

Mycroft's mobile rang again.

"Yes," he said. No one answered for a moment but he did not repeat himself. His face showed no expression but he subconsciously reached for his umbrella that had fallen to the side of his car seat.

Anthea noticed as her eyes became wide. Anthea quickly disconnected her current call as she nodded to him and her fingers started to fly again across her Smartphone. He noticed her movements and waited with annoyance for the voice he knew he would soon hear. Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man's attempt at drama.

"Mr. Holmes the elder," Moriarty's voice traveled across the mobile link. All traces of his usual manic tone were gone. It was all business.

"Mr. Moriarty, the only." Mycroft said with a polished calm.

"Nice day for travel, maybe even a holiday." Moriarty said conversationally.

"Is this a social call or is there a point to this conversation? My schedule is quite busy for today." Mycroft mimicked Anthea as he took his mobile and used his shoulder to hold it to his ear while his fingers grabbed the electrical device next to him and typed a comment to Anthea. She nodded and turned and typed a reply to her boss as her fingers danced across the keys of her mobile phone

"What does your schedule include, blowing up my home, rather rude, don't you think."

"You kidnapped my brother, consider us even. Besides it was a rare mistake, I thought that you were still in the building."

There was silence for a moment then Moriarty gave a rich full laugh. "You are fun aren't you? Not as much as Sherlock, or as good looking for that matter, Yum!" Moriarty said as his voice took on a playful quality for the first time. "Still, I liked that property. I'll just have to think of something to make me feel better."

There was a slight pause.

"Come the world must be big enough for two brains like ours. Well there is Sherlock but we must agree that he is in a class by himself." Moriarty paused, "You did not ask me how I got your number."

"I won't insult you." Mycroft said.

"But you know how I did," Moriarty stated as fact.

"But of course." Mycroft again said as he read Anthea's latest message. Moriarty chuckled in response.

Mycroft did not ask Anthea to look to see which of his top agents did not check in however, she already was doing it. She frowned as she typed the names of two agents that were due to check in an hour ago but did not.

Mycroft closed his eyes briefly then opened them. "I would like their bodies back for burial." Mycroft said matter of fact but with a tone of authority.

"They're just ordinary people; the world is full of those. With all your power why do you care?" Moriarty's tone was curious.

Anthea raised her eyebrows and looked curiously at Mycroft. He ignored Moriarty's comment and looked straight ahead. "They were faithful to you. Even my best men weren't able to get information out of them no matter what they did." Moriarty sounded almost envious.

There was a moment of silence before Moriarty continued. "I have a proposition for you. I like to play but there are so many countries out there. I am planning something big, monumental, _un événement épique._ As I said, there are plenty of countries to choose from. I could leave England completely alone. Without me, the crime rate would lower considerably. Imagine what a hero you would be. Imagine how much good you could do for your country."

"_I ask for so little in return, just one small thing_." Moriarty sang the sentence.

"And the cost of your sudden altruism." Mycroft asked with disdain.

"Just your deep abiding appreciation, and a few flowers sent every holiday. Well perhaps, one other thing." Moriarty wanted Mycroft's mind to fill in the blank but Mycroft refused to.

"That would be?" Mycroft asked casually.

"Sherlock. Just look the other way. Give him to me and walk away. No one but you and I would ever know. Trade your brother for the welfare of a country. It's not like you haven't done it before."

Mycroft's even tone and calm voice betrayed how much Moriarty's words stung.

"I could not possibly have known what you would do with the information about his childhood. It was unimportant pieces of information." Mycroft for the first time in his life was unsure of the truth of his statement.

"You did not insult me, so I will not insult you. With a mind like yours, you did or should have known what I could do. He's just one annoying little brother, isn't that what he is to you? I'll even treat him well. Maybe well…ish is more accurate."

There was a pause.

"It's a big decision so I'll give you time to think about it. Sorry, your imagination will have to provide your own interim music," Moriarty said mockingly.

Mycroft text a message to Anthea. His mind wandered as he waited for a reply. Why had he talked to Moriarty about Sherlock? He had told himself it was to protect a nation, to get a potentially deadly computer code that turned out to be the hoax of the century. He told himself that Sherlock could not possibly be harmed by the useless information that he gave Moriarty, but was that completely honest?

Mycroft frowned.

Was it at least in part revenge? He tried to dismiss the thought as ridiculous but could not.

If Mycroft was not so insulted by the thought, he would have said that his actions were childish. Sherlock had matured in the past year but back then, Sherlock went about doing as he pleased without thinking of the consequences.

He had just broken into a secret facility at Baskerville and cause consequences that took almost a month to get the mess in hand and would not even so much as apologize. While Mycroft had to run around England and several other countries trying to get rid of any repercussions.

He did have to admit that his brother also caught a killer and exposed corruption. If his brother had just come to him, he could have gotten access the correct way and everyone would have been happy.

Still, if he knew what Moriarty was planning, he would not have done it. He anticipated a little light humiliation for his very private brother, nothing more. At the time he had to admit that he even thought it amusing. Perhaps the truth was he was too angry to consider the possibility of any other consequences. But, he paid dearly.

It was the biggest mistake of his life. More than half a year thinking that his little brother was not just dead, but had taken his life or been forced to take it. All a result of his actions was the worse private hell that anyone could have thought, or dreamt up for him.

Moriarty's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"I need an answer," Moriarty said.

Mycroft scoffed. "You want an answer, alright. Yes, he's annoying. You forgot arrogant, irritating, brilliant, loyal and clever as hell. He is **my **annoying little brother and I'm not giving him up. I will give my last breath; I'll follow you to the gates of hell to assure that he is safe and rid of you. Answer enough for you?" Mycroft said with a practiced calm while barely containing his anger.

There was another pause as Moriarty processed his answer.

"My, you two are fun aren't you? You've chosen to continue the game."

"A piece has been moved in our mental game of chess. Do you know where your knight is positioned Mr. Holmes?"

"By the way, do you know where Sherlock is? Safe-house is a word that seems to contradict itself, don't you think. Can any house every truly be safe? Just thinking out loud."

"I'll have my men to enable your agent's phone so that you can recover their bodies. Bring a few small bags, My men got a little carried away I'm afraid."

"_Adieu_ Holmes," Moriarty said sweetly.


	47. Chapter 47

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 47

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**.

**Love to all**

Chapter M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It has been a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

**Thank you for all your encouragement and support during my computer crisis. My fingers have been flying to give you extra long chapters as a way to say, **_**Thank you.**_

_**Notes**_

Love always, Zacha

****Warning. References to abuse including child abuse. Because of that temporarily M**

* * *

"_**The past is strapped to our backs. We do not have to see it; we can always feel it**_." ~Mignon McLaughlin

* * *

**_Sherlock/Benedict is currently having a flashback.  
_**

Sherlock was sitting by a fireplace reading on the floor. He was thinking about his new chemistry lab that he was promised at Christmas even though Christmas was five months away. Sherlock's Mummy was still visiting Nana. She would be back in two days. Sherlock laid on his stomach and his legs swung back and forth. He giggled as he read his favorite part of the pirate book. He accidentally leaned on his left arm. He winced at the pain. He frowned for a moment as he looked around. His eyes landed on the door to the room.

Sherlock's Father had taken most of the week so that he could spend time with Sherlock. Sherlock decided that he did not like it when Father spent _time _with him.

He would be glad when Mummy returned in three days and Mycroft would be home in one day. Sherlock bit his lips as he looked toward the smaller kitchen where a telephone was on the wall. He thought about calling his Mum. He missed her. He decided not to. Mummy had been already worried about Nana. He would not worry her by calling again. Three calls in only four hours, she would know that something was wrong. Father went into great detail about what would happen if that happened. He was a big boy. He would be eight years old in four months.

Sherlock got up and walked to his bedroom, he returned with a pillow to put under his arm. He lay back on his stomach. He was proud of himself for thinking of a solution. Father said that he was not permitted to ask the Holmes manor staff for help. He was to learn to behave like a Holmes. He even let one of the house staff go that tried to help him dress his arm. Sherlock thought about how it was his fault that she lost her position. He had known her since he was a little kid.

He swallowed as he looked around the massive room. He never noticed how big it was before, without Mum and Mycroft it always seemed so empty. Sherlock retreated into his mind for a moment when he returned. He left everything unpleasant locked away deep inside him.

He carefully positioned his book in front of his face. He was careful that it did not touch his bruised arm. He laid on his stomach and within minutes became lost in the story again as pirates fought and sailed to find hidden treasures. He started to giggle loudly again as he read on. His skinny legs started to swing in delight as he came to his favorite part of the book. That is why he did not notice when his Father came into the room and stood behind him. He looked at him as he sipped on his second tumbler of alcohol.

He looked at his son, as the crystal seemed to capture the light from the fire. His thoughts wandered as he looked at him. His son would learn to behave like a Holmes, just like his Father taught him to act like a Holmes.

He took a gulp of alcohol as he unbuttoned his suit jacket. He walked up to his son and sat on the floor next to him. Sherlock's little body stiffened as the giggles died in his throat. He had never once seen his Father sit on the floor. Mummy would but not Father. He thought that it was undignified. Sherlock was not sure what he was supposed to do.

"Hello Father," Sherlock said barely above a whisper when he finally found his voice. "D… Did I do something wrong?" He asked as he glanced in his eyes then his eyes found his book again.

"Look at me son," he said as he ran his hand in his son's hair. Sherlock looked in his Father's eyes and knew that he had been drinking all day even though this was only the second time today that he saw him.

His Father smiled at him tenderly but Sherlock thought his Father's eyes did not match his warm smile. His Father looked away as he asked, "How is your arm feeling?" He seemed curious.

"Um… I'm fine Sir, thank you." Sherlock looked at him and smiled confused. His Father rarely touched him except to punish him. "Are you hungry?"

"No Father, I have been getting myself food and not bothering the staff just like you told me." Sherlock noticed that his Father looked tired and guilty. He filed this information away to process later. His Father took another gulp of alcohol. Sherlock noticed but said nothing. He had been drinking a lot since Mummy left for Nana's house. He hoped that his grandmother would be better soon.

Sherlock was starting to feel nervous. He was used to his Father's cruelty but his seeming kindness was confusing.

He deduced his Father even though he did not realize at that young age that that was what he was doing. Something in him warned him not to trust him. A battle seemed to be going on inside his Father. Sherlock thought it best to stay out of his way until his Father decided which part of himself he was going to allow to win. His mind saw his Father's intentions but his heart overruled and refused to see what his mind clearly did.

"I'm tired Father, might I be excused please."

"Yes, of course Sherlock." His father kissed his son's hair then he glanced away at the fireplace as he took the last gulp to empty his tumbler of the opaque brown liquid. Sherlock smiled back at the rare sign of affection.

Sherlock got up and bit is lips so that he would not make a sound of pain as he stood. He did not want his father to feel bad. Everyone makes a mistake, Sherlock thought. Sherlock could not keep the grimace from his face but at least he did not make a sound. His Father glanced at him and noticed the grimace. He quickly looked away again. Sherlock noticed Father seemed really sorry for what he did. Still, something in his mind noticed things that he could not fully understand at his age and told him to be careful.

Sherlock picked up his book and smiled as he walked toward the closest door to take to his room. He decided that he would stay there for the rest of the night. He was glad that he thought ahead and had hidden fruit and nuts in his room for food just in case his Father became angry again. It was a good day. His father did not hit him once today. He was determined not to do something wrong and spoil it. He was almost to the door.

"Sherlock." His father's voice stopped him. Sherlock's heart suddenly started to race. He slowly turned around. He suddenly felt like there was not enough air in the room.

He looked at his Father who had stood and leaned against the fireplace as he held the empty crystal staring at the wall.

"Yes Father?" Sherlock said so quietly that he barely heard.

"Speak up, why are you speaking so quietly, it's irritating. Are you trying to irritate me?" His father said as he looked at Sherlock. His eyes looked into his son's eyes.

Sherlock thought about the fact that his father's statement was illogical. He was the one who said he was always giggling and too loud. How could he be both too loud and too quiet at the same time? He was about to point out the flaws in his father's logic but remembered his mother's words. He chose instead to repeat himself. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry, yes Father." Sherlock noticed that it was difficult to get his voice as loud as he wanted it to be.

His Father sighed, "You forgot your pillow."

Sherlock smiled and relaxed slightly. "Yes Sir." Sherlock speed walked to the pillow and picked it up.

He turned to walk away but only got a few steps. His father's voice again stopped him.

"Turn around Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at the door to the left side of the ling room. All he wanted to do was leave out of that door. Why could he not make it out of that door?

Sherlock turned to face his father. "Have you been dressed like that all day?" His Father asked.

Sherlock looked at himself. He dressed himself in his black dress trousers, white short sleeve dress shirt. He did not even play outside or run in the garden, as he loved to do. He did not understand what was wrong.

Look at your shirt Sherlock. Sherlock looked carefully but saw nothing until he looked at the side and saw a drop of blood. He looked at his bandaged finger then at his Father. He had accidentally sliced the tip of one finger when he tried to cut a piece of meat for himself to make a sandwich. The kitchen staff looked at him with sympathy but no one wanted to risk losing their job like their coworker had. One staff still privately gave him a bag of nuts to go with his fruit that he already took, but told him not to say that she gave it to him.

"I'll change it right away Sir." He knew even when he said it that there was no use.

"You're a Holmes, do you know what that means. Your appearance is important. People judge not just you but me on your appearance but do you care? No! You're selfish. You're just in your own little world, not caring about anyone else. You're just a little freak… a bloody little freak…"

Sherlock stopped listening as his Father rant grew in volume and animation. His Father started to walk toward him. He stood numb as if his feet were cemented to the floor. Sherlock knew what was coming. He kept thinking three things over and over again in his mind.

_Don't cry, don't run, don't scream- You'll only make it worse… Don't cry, don't run, don't scream- You'll only make it worse… Don't cry, don't run, don't scream- You'll only make it worse…_

Despite the child's intentions, tears started to flow. The youngest Holmes never noticed when his book dropped forgotten and landed on the beautiful oak floors.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Thomas and several agents sat around the conference table. Kevin slowly sipped on his coffee. They looked at maps and the latest aerial picture of the safe-house. Kevin had alerted Agent Thomas five minutes ago to a new problem. The five jeeps that had disappeared earlier on their way to Moriarty's Mansion just reappeared as they exited a forest area one hour ago. Against Santos orders, he had been attempting to track it all morning. It was very clear now where they were heading. Four other non-jeep vehicles had joined them. That was nine vehicles full of hostiles convening on one safe house.

"Agent Santos had this information how long ago?" Thomas asked. He did not even attempt to hide his anger.

"He knew about parts of it early this morning, the rest a few hours later, Sir. That's why…" Patel was interrupted.

"You contacted me and several other agencies." Thomas finished for him then cursed quietly.

Patel nodded with a frown.

**Thomas fired off several orders rapidly.**

"Rogers, warn Santos and the other agents of what's coming. Warm the helicopter up."

"Jefferson, stay here with twenty men and guard the house. Have several men to patrol on foot. Four patrols in jeeps. The rest of you prepare to leave with me."

Men started running in all directions.

Within minutes Rogers ran back. He did or reassigned his tasks. He was ready for more instructions. "Sir." He said looking at Thomas.

"How fast can I get there if I fly all the way?" Thomas asked with a report in his hand.

"Thirty-five to forty minutes but that's very dangerous if we are caught…" Rogers started to say.

"Make sure that we are not caught." Thomas said grimly. "I need speed, we have no other choice now."

"How long before they reach the house Mr. Patel?" Thomas looked at Kevin.

"Thirty, maybe thirty-five minutes." Kevin said as he shook his head in frustration.

Thomas nodded as he started to walk toward the chopper. Kevin and several soldiers followed him.

"Mr. Patel," Thomas said as he handed him a phone. The second button is programmed to reach me; the third is an Agent Myers, The fourth Captain Magoro." They jogged up the stairs.

Thomas looked at Patel as he started a slow jog through the house.

"The first button?" Patel asked slightly breathy as they moved toward the door.

"Push only if you cannot reach any of us." Thomas said with seriousness. Patel understood. The helicopter blade started as everyone ducked. It was becoming harder to hear.

"Do you remember the names?" Thomas asked.

"Yes Sir." Patel's photographic memory already memorized the names.

"Patel, monitor the safe-house." Thomas looked in Patel's eyes. "I'm sorry about your friend. Keep your gun on you and be prepared for anything." He nodded grimly as the last soldier to board clicked his seatbelt. Thomas nodded to Kevin. Kevin crouch as he ran to a safe distance. He noticed Thomas looking at him as his face quickly disappeared from view.

Patel thought about his friend. They found the body of the analyst that was supposed to be guarding the first safe-house when they arrived with Holmes earlier. He had been shot, executed. The body dumped close by.

He could not see the helicopter anymore. Kevin hoped they would not be too late as he ran back into the cottage.


	48. Chapter 48

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 48

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**.

**Love to all**

Chapter M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It has been a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

**Thank you for all your encouragement and support during my computer crisis. My fingers have been flying to give you extra long chapters as a way to say, **_**Thank you.**_

_**Notes**_

Love always, Zacha

****Warning. References to abuse including child abuse. Because of that temporarily M**

* * *

"_**Toughness is in the soul and spirit, not in muscles.**__**"**__Alex Karras _

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Earlier**_

Mycroft picked up his mobile and called John directly, it would be minutes before John called him if he did not.

_ The phone was answered immediately. "What the hell happened?" John asked right away._

Mycroft expected such an emotional outburst. "John calm down and I will explain everything."

"_Me calm is not going to happen Mycroft so don't let that stop you." John said with irritation._

Mycroft sighed as he started. "One of the soldiers in the original escort for Sherlock was a traitor, one of Moriarty's plants. When Sherlock was deteriorating from his flashback, he apparently somehow killed one soldier and was killed by another soldier during an attempted sexual assault."

"_Sexual assault," John said shakily._

"No John, I said **attempted**. Nothing happened; a soldier shot the traitor before anything… unpleasant could take place.

"_So, Sherlock is unharmed?" John asked cautiously_.

"Not entirely, he was bruised severely in the abdomen and one side. He was apparently struck and kicked a few times. Nevertheless, it is nothing that he will not recover from in a week. He is currently unconscious. It's unclear if his unconsciousness was a result of a hit in the head or if it is from the flashbacks." Mycroft finished.

_John was silent for a moment._

"_I'll like to shake the soldier's hand for rescuing Sherlock." John sighed relieved._

"Not possible, he was taken to a hospital across the border because of his head injuries.

"_Will he be OK?" John wondered._

"It's unclear right now, but it looks favorable." Mycroft said.

"_I don't think the attack was directed by Moriarty. If he wanted Sherlock assaulted, he would have done it himself. He has a sick fascination with him." John was growing more concern about Sherlock's immediate safety._

"Agreed, someone is acting alone or against Moriarty's orders. Interesting. Moriarty is having trouble at home." Mycroft's mind started to work.

"_Bloody hell, I know who it is. Sebastian someone, I don't know his last name. He is as obsessed with Moriarty as Moriarty is with Sherlock. I think he's actually… jealous."_

"Sebastian Moran, second in command under Moriarty." Mycroft commented.

"John be careful. Even with Moriarty, some of his patterns are predictable. If this man is driven by emotions with above average intelligence besides, he might be more unpredictable. Sherlock might not be the only one that he is obsessed with. He would consider you his equal and feel it necessary to face you as well." Mycroft warned.

"Don't worry Mycroft, I'll be careful," John said quickly.

"I never said that I was worried," Mycroft said distastefully.

"Yes, you are, but you and your brother are both emotionally constipated so would never admit that fact." John said slightly out of breath as if he was changing positions.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

John was undeterred."I am not emotionally constipated so I'll admit that I am worried about you, so please be careful Mycroft."

"Yes," Mycroft said still thinking about John's comment.

"I'll call later," John disconnected the line.

Mycroft stared at the mobile. Perhaps he was concerned about John but he would never say it out loud. It was undignified. Mycroft hoped that they all made it out of this event alive and unharmed. Mycroft pulled out his laptop as his mind returned to Sherlock.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time  
**_

He looked at the heavy high bush and a receding forest line. John looked at his watch. They were almost to the safe-house. He wondered how Sherlock was. Mycroft called John earlier and updated him on everything that was going on.

It was cooler now that they entered an area where there were trees. John's mobile rang. It must be Mycroft, he thought. Myer's phone was usually the one to ring. "Yes Mycroft?" John answered.

"Hello, Doctor John Watson?" An unfamiliar voice asked.

"Yes," John answered breathlessly.

"This is Doctor Yemeni, I am at the safe-house that I understand that you are on your way to. This concerns a Holmes that I have been administering medical care to as you instructed."

"Get on with it." John knew he sounded irritable but the normally polite man did not care.

"Mr. Holmes seems to have just come out of some sort of flashback and is now conscious. He is quite irritable and not in the most trusting mood. The first course of drugs seemed to have worked. He is clear minded. He has no headaches. He is still in some pain from the attack but the pain medications seem to be working. He has pulled out his IV and refuses to have anyone come near him." There was a slight pause. "Also, his strength has definitely returned." Doctor Yemeni said grimly.

"How do you know his strength has returned? Have he told you this?" John asked confused.

"We were simply trying to clean him up and change his clothes. He woke out of his flashback fighting. He punched two men down and threw a third across a table. Like I said, he is slightly irritable."

John frowned for a moment as he processed what was said to him. Suddenly he laughed out loud with relief. "Perhaps I'd better talk to him."

"Thank you Sir," Doctor Yemeni said with relief.

John heard the muffled conversations between Sherlock and Doctor Yemeni.

_Mr. Holmes a Doctor John Watson would like to speak to you. -_ _Doctor Yemeni's Voice_

_Stay the hell away! Slide the phone on the table! -Sherlock's Voice_

John heard a sliding noise then a rustling noise.

"I don't trust them," was Sherlock's first words.

"I see." John paused briefly. "Getting exercise by throwing bodies across tables?"

"Some." Sherlock said while grunting from the pain.

"How close are you?" Sherlock asked immediately.

"Forty minutes or less, I'm almost there." John added. "If you feel threatened fell free to beat anyone who threatens you up. But, for peace sake, **don't shoot anyone**. You can change your trousers but keep your shirt on and keep your phone on you." John paused again. "I did tell you **not **to shoot anyone didn't I?"

"No promises," Sherlock said.

"Hurry." Sherlock added.

"Yes." John said simply. Sherlock disconnected.

John for the first time noticed that there were other people in the car.

"Pull over," John said with all the military authority he had in him. He transformed into John the soldier again.

The other agents looked at Myers for permission. She nodded as she pulled out her mobile and spoke to the other two vehicles. They pulled to the side of the dirt road as gravel mixed with dirt flew from under the tires of the jeeps.

John got out wordlessly and walked over to the driver's seat. "I'm driving," he said."We need to hurry,"

Myers nodded again and the drivers got out and switched places. John got into the driver's seat. John and Mary were now in the front seat not back. "You might want to put on your seatbelts Mary and everyone."

She barely clicked her seatbelt shut when the jeep screeched onto the road and flew down the path in a cloud of dust with two jeeps following as their drivers tried to catch up.

* * *

_**Fifteen minutes into the ride.**_

Myers ended her mobile call and looked at John. "John; agents and soldiers from both sides are heading in one direction, that safe-house."

John just nodded as he looked straight ahead. As three jeeps disappeared in a cloud of dust down a dirt road.

* * *

A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. One more in 24 hours.

Love to all, Zacha


	49. Chapter 49

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 49

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**.eohippus AKA guest ;)(Thanks for the multiple post. Glad you liked the flashback), Puky2012 (Thanks for the multiple post. Abdul definitely saved the day), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. Is Mycroft ice or fire?), Taylor501 (Who will win? ;)), Jenna Yemowa (Thanks for the multiple post. I am glad that you are happy about Thomas), henriholmes (Thank you so much.), Esstell (I'll keep going), MapleleafCameo (Thanks, Mycroft verses Moriarty ), Socalrose (Thanks for the multiple post. Where is your knight?), gemstone1234 (Sorry in advance :( ), Voldemort101 (Thanks , I appreciate you). **Thank you all.**

**Thank you** ;bruderlein, hanging in there, Kitiara88, hJohn302, gemstone1234 ,briongloid fiodoir, Kassandwich, Flounder65, Voldemort101, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Burning Phoenix, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hJohn302, ShiverandShamy, Lunita28, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hJohn302, Pencilx , Warm-Glow, Jenna Yemowa, , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, Socalrose, dbz27, Prothoe, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , Isaldaria, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Love and crisps  
**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It has been a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

**Thank you for all your responses.**

**_Notes_**

Love always, Zacha

***What you need to know.

**There are two safe-houses**

**_Safe-house number #1_**is where Patel's friend was killed by Moriarty's soldier scout. The scout was sent to get information about the safe-house. This is unfortunately, where Sherlock is. It is located on the edge of the border to Morocco.

**_Safe-house number #2_** is where Thomas and Patel were and where Sherlock needs to be moved too. However, Moriarty's army seems to block the agents who want to get him across the border into Spain. Spain is where Patel's safe-house is located.

Thomas is leaving safe-house number** #2** (Spain) to go to safe-house number **#1** (Morocco) where Sherlock is currently.

I hope that was clear.

* * *

**_"Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall."_**~ Confucius

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Earlier_**

The General sat down as he motioned with his hand to his guest to sit in the chair opposite him. He put his alcoholic drink on the table. He noticed with pride that his guest was looking around his home. General Baroon sat back and crossed his legs. "The house and properties have been in the family for three generations. It is considered the biggest and best in this area." The General boasted.

"I'm sure you must be thrilled." His guest said simply.

The General blinked a few times as he processed what was said to him. He did not know how to respond to the man sitting across from him. His immodest reference to his home did not get the normal and expected response.

General Baroon sat crossed-legged on the chair opposite his guest. He prepared his cigar and after preparing it put it to his mouth. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out an ornate looking pure gold lighter. He made a show of slowly bringing it up to his mouth so that his guest could see the expensive item.

"It's rude to smoke in front of your guest when you didn't even ask permission, don't you think," a voice floated from his side. Baroon frowned. He was not a man that was used to taking orders but giving them. No one dared to challenge him, especially in his own country and in his own home.

He had to bite his lips to keep from responding sarcastically. "Of course," came out with a fake smile. He placed the cigar and the gold lighter on the glass table to the side of their chairs.

The General looked at the man sitting beside him. He could not read his face; it was expressionless except for the eyes. They seem to be like fire torches, burning as they seared inside the soul. The General did not notice that he squirmed in his seat.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Uncomfortable for The General anyway. His guest spoke finally. "About the problem that we discussed earlier. I would like for you to be there personally to supervise everything. We would not want a repeat mistake like earlier, now, would we? **My home** blowing up was quite unpleasant." There was another pause. "You do remember my instructions. The airplane will be waiting; I would like a late night flight."

"Sir, that might not be realistic, time-wise." The General waited for a response. No verbal response came.

Instead, he watched as the man sitting across from him got a cigar and after preparing it took **HIS** gold lighter and lit the cigar. He then blew the smoke in General Baroon's face. Next, He crossed his legs and put the cigar out on the arm of the chair that he was sitting in and then put the extinguished cigar in The General's drink. The antique chair was given to him by his mother.

"Sorry, I forgot that I don't smoke. I would not want to die prematurely, would you?" He then put The General's gold lighter in his pocket. His face was still expressionless but his eyes if possible became even darker. After a pause, "By the way, where is that daughter, oops, I mean wife of yours. You do like them young don't you. She's simply delicious. I could just eat her up."

Again there was a moment of silence. "She is visiting her sister... Indefinitely." Baroon smiled falsely. "I have decided to personally supervise the retrieval of the man, Holmes."

"Benedict," the man sitting across from him said smoothly.

"Um, of course Sir, Benedict." The General said as he tried to appear calm.

Moriarty pulled out his mobile and started to make some phone calls as his men now came closer and waited for orders. General Baroon looked confused as he slowly got up and walked away. Had he really just been dismissed in his own home? The General's steps quickened as he pulled out his mobile and instructed his driver and four soldiers to get the Land Rover ready immediately.

A moment later, as The General awkwardly got into the back seat grimacing slightly from the arthritis in his right knee, he made another phone call.

"Hello dear." He spoke to his wife, "I want you to go and visit your sister."No. Don't come back to the house. Armon and three of my men are on the way to meet you and your driver. You and your sister can go on a shopping spree, everything new." Baroon laughed at his wife's excited squeal. His face became somber. "No don't worry I'm fine. Everything is fine." There was silence as he listened to her speak. "Yes, I love you too. Sorry, I must go."

The general disconnected the call and made another one.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

John disconnected the call from Mycroft. He showed no emotions as he pushed his earphone's button for three seconds to activate it. Everyone thought it wise to give John the earpiece instead of watching him try to hold a mobile to his ear while he drove like a mad man.

Mary was talking to Captain Magoro. She just finished speaking with Thomas and an Agent named Collins. She glanced at John then turned her full attention back to her conversations.

"Benedict I am almost there but I am afraid that so is someone else. Maybe, I should have said some ones." John frowned now.

* * *

**_Current Day _**

**_Current Time_**

Benedict stood with his back to the wall. Anyone who entered would see the empty bed with bed linen half on the floor and a chair turned on its side. There were other signs of a struggle. They cautiously returned his phone, document, and shirt to him along with a pair of blue jean trousers and shoes. He refused the tee-shirt that was offered to him. His dress shirt was stained with blood and dirt but he still buttoned it and tucked it into the blue jeans as neatly as he could out of habit. Its dark color helped to hide some of the stains to all but those who were physically very close and looking for the discolorations. However, no one was close to him.

He refused to sit or lay on the hospital type bed in the corner. His IV and tubing was still on the floor with traces of blood on the tip of the needle. No one dared to enter the room and try to get close to him anymore because they were unsure of what the nutter would do. Everyone sort of slid things his way after he grunted his permission.

Two agents were in the corner of the room. One sported a blackened eye, he looked warily at Holmes. The other agent sported a bruise chin. Benedict glared at them defiantly as he tried not to betray the fact that after the initial excitement and Adrenaline, his body was trying to communicate how painfully sore it was to him. He was offered but refused any medication for pain. He would wait for John. He reluctantly did except bottled water. His thirst and John urging him with a second phone call encouraged him to drink. John called at regular intervals and during the last call, informed him that he would be arriving in fifteen to seventeen minutes.

Benedict, who leaning against one wall with his eyes closed, touched the mobile in his denim trousers pocket reassuringly. He listened to the sounds in the room and attempted to partially rest. He now opened his eyes.

He thought of the latest flashback, dream, false memory , or true memory - whatever they were. He was growing more convinced that they were true memories. Some were pleasant, some very unpleasant. He felt like his entire world was spinning fast and he would fly away at any time. The one true assurance was John. If he did not believe that with his entire being, this would be the moment that he would embrace madness. He was not even sure if he should respond to the name Benedict anymore.

He felt nameless, as if the world had produced a big hole and he somehow slipped through it and found himself in an alternate universe. A world were everyone seemed obsess with him. But, a world were there was nowhere that he belonged.

Benedict felt a slight twinge of pain in his head. He sighed. It was the longest he had gone without a headache in weeks. He was thinking too deeply but knew he could not stop himself so did not try. Despite all this he felt better physically than he had in some time. The flashbacks did not leave him as drained and in pain as it normally did. Probably the drugs, he thought. Still, he did not trust them. Not after what one of them tried to do.

The door opened as a man with a stocky build walked into the room. Benedict's eyes moved up and down, looking at him, deducing him. Sherlock decided that he did not like or trust the man. Sherlock's body stiffened as four more men walked in, in an intimidating manner. Sherlock knew instantly that this man wanted something from him and he was prepared to do anything to get what he wanted.

Benedict grimaced as he stepped away from the wall so that they could not trap him against it. His arms came loosely to his side and away from his body. He prepared to defend himself if needed.

"Hello my name is Santos. You are to follow my instructions without question. You're lucky to have me. I am an agent…" Agent Santos explained his qualifications and accomplishments.

Benedict whispered to himself, "Moron." Benedict also decided that he was not to be trusted. He stopped listening and paid more attention to facial expressions and nonverbal clues. He quickly considered his situation and the man.

_Narcissistic._

_Above average intelligence but still an idiot._

_Santos is in charge of those four men. _

_The men following him into the room will do as they're told. _

_The two men in the corner are harmless but annoying. _

_They will not intervene unless Santos gets out of hand. _

_There is tension between the two groups. Mr. Idiot is used to being in charge but has been demoted and is not used to taking orders from anyone. _

_They will use physical force if necessary._

_I only have fifteen minutes before I will no longer be able to effectively resist them physically. _

"Mr. Hol…Um I mean Benedict, are you listening to anything I have to say?" Santos asked with irritation.

"No, I have not been listening for quite a while now. I rather tuned you out. If you must babble on again, do the courtesy of repeating **only** the relevant information succinctly. Don't be boring or I might be forced to tune you out again." Sherlock managed the perfect blend of false sweetness with a dash of annoyance.

Santos took a few steps toward him in anger then stopped himself. "You need to come with me Sir for your own safety. I need you to stay calm but…"

"But they are a lot of not so nice people who want me. They are close. Very close judging by the line you've drawn your lips into." Benedict sighed. It had been a very long, very odd, and most unpleasant day.

Everyone in the room was silent as they looked at Holmes oddly.

An agent named Collins came hurriedly into the room. "Why is he not in the safe room yet, we're wasting time!" He said with irritation as he stopped suddenly and looked at everyone's face. The tension in the room was so thick that it could be cut with a knife. He turned his attention to Holmes now.

"I'm Collins and I need you to follow me **now** - Sir." Collins did not try to intimidate or approach Holmes in any way but instead made a simple, urgent, and to the point request. Collins looked at Holmes and Holmes looked at Collins. Benedict made an instant decision and spoke before Collins had a chance to speak again.

"After you," Holmes said already moving through the door. Everyone walked quickly as they raced from the room. No one stopped moving yet everyone frowned as sudden and unmistakable sounds drew everyone's attention. Their steps quickened.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Kevin just reported to Agent Thomas, Captain Magoro, and Agent Myers. He also walked quickly up to give a verbal report to Agent Jefferson who was left in charged of the safe-house that Kevin was located in. His fingers flew across the computer screens as his legs pushed his seated body from one computer screen to another. Kevin's mind took over his activities.

Kevin's lips moved into a grim line.

"They're here," He sang in a whisper as he looked grimly at the aerial pictures of the **other** safe-house. He hoped desperately that Agent Thomas was almost there. Determination came on his face as Kevin's fingers moved faster.

Kevin pushed the button to activate his earpiece as he sent out the warnings.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

General Baroon stiffly got out of the all terrain vehicle. His men were engaging the agents from the safe-house. He looked at his watch. He did not like the situation at all.

He watched from a safe distance dispassionately as two of his men dragged an agent that was trying to defend the perimeter outside the safe-house. They pushed him roughly to his knees and his body twitched violently as bullets were shot in rapid succession into the man's body. Similar scenes were playing out as the severely outnumbered men were slowly being overran.

They already knew where to look for Holmes because of the spy's earlier information. They needed to get in and out quickly. He already had half his men wounded or dead from the disaster at the mansion. They needed to get in and out quickly so that they could get the Holmes-man to Moriarty's waiting airplane so that he could be transported to God only knows where.

The General stood down to no one but the reputation of the man gave Baroon a healthy respect for him. He was getting too old for this kind of life. When this little assignment was concluded, he would consider retiring. Two of his soldiers were shot by an agent before someone shot him in the back. The General watched slightly bored as his best captain gave the order to storm the building. The explosives should blow soon. He walked a safe distance back.

* * *

**_"It's not whether you get knocked down; it's whether you get up."_** Vince Lombardi

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Holmes' body protested as it was bent low behind a metal table that was turned on its side in the locked room. They hoped to outlast the hostile soldiers until help arrived. Their success depended on the weapons of the other soldiers.

Their breathing became audible and harsh in the room. It was the only sound. The sudden quiet as the gunfire died down outside, did not bring comfort. It had the opposite effect.

Nervous hands squeezed then released the guns. The agents formed a barrier with their bodies around Holmes. Santos thought with dark humor to himself about the fact that he might get to die a hero after all. His heart was in his throat. He saw his life. He wondered if this was how the agents he sent to their death so that he could appear to be the big hero, felt. Poetic justice at its best, he thought.

Santos took a deep breath and waited.

Adrenaline filled everyone's bodies. Benedict put his hands in the prayer position just below his chin as he remained crouched close to the floor. Benedict did not know why but this helped him to calm his body and mind as he waited for whatever was going to happen, to happen.

Breathe in - Breathe out - Breathe in, Breathe in...

**Breathe**...

The pregnant silence gave birth to chaos.

The door exploded inward with rapidly increasing speed. Orange and white sparks lit the room. Violent flashes of light danced aggressively into the space in the dim room as it casts ghostly figures against the damaged walls.

The explosion of sound ended as abruptly as it started. A white haze of smoke settled in the room, it ascended slowly.

Lights flickered on and off, casting ghostly-lighted figures on the walls. An eerie silence filled the space; its only interruption was the sizzle of the damaged electrical lines that hung down randomly likes snakes in the room, ready to bite any victims who ventured too close.

Holmes opened his eyes and was about to force his stunned body off of the floor as a sudden and overwhelming flash of white light and sound from a flash grenade sent him into the darkness again. The last thing he heard was the sounds of gunfire as the world with its colors and sounds faded slowly away.

He fought against the pull of the dark.

* * *

A/N: I will not keep you in suspense long, more midweek. Probably Thursday.

Lots of Love, Zacha


	50. Chapter 50

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 50

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. Jenna Yemowa, Socalrose, eohippus , Taylor501, gemstone1234 , Prothoe, Kitiara88, and so much for your reviews this week I appreciate all of you.** Thanks to all - cyber cookies.**

**Edited goanago, (welcome). Thank you** ; Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir , hJohn302 , MapleleafCameo , hanging in there , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, Voldemort101, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Burning Phoenix, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hJohn302, ShiverandShamy, Lunita28, Voldemort101, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hJohn302, Pencilx , Warm-Glow, , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , Isaldaria, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Love to all**

_**Notes**_**, 3.2 Kilometers is about 2 miles.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It has been a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

**Thank you for your support and letting me know that you're out there. **

Love and tea, Zacha

* * *

"_**Fortune knocks but once, but misfortune has much more patience**_." ~Author Unknown

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

General Baroon's face grew stone-like as he listened on the mobile phone.

"A **what** is coming?" He asked for conformation with a confused look on his face. His back stiffened the longer he listened. He took the cigar out of his mouth and let it fall to the ground. He disconnected without another word to the caller.

He motioned for one of his men who came running."Holmes, where is he?"

"Sorry General but they are well trained and fighting back." The man responded while looking around alertly to make sure that The General and he was not in danger.

The General grabbed his collar and pulled him closer. "Get me Holmes, now! I don't care if he's a little banged up."

The man was surprised by the normally unflappable General's display of impatience. This both unnerved the man and proved to be an effective motivator.

"Yes Sir," he said as he pushed his earpiece and provided his own set of proper motivation to his men.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Mary picked up her mobile and spoke to Thomas. She had already gotten over her initial shock when he told her how he would be able to make it there on time.

"How close are you?" She asked as she listened to the other communication line. She frowned as John drove up close to the safe house. She finished her conversation with Thomas. They ignored the sporadic gunfire. That was a bad sign that it was not more return fire now. She did not have to tell John because of his military experience to stay a distance from the house.

"Captain Magoro will be arriving ten minutes behind Thomas. Thomas will be arriving in five minutes. We are alone until then I am afraid. John, you're our best shot. Do you think that you and two other agents, can pick them off with the sniper's rifle and at least get their attention, while I take the remaining men and try to work our way in. We at least need to make it safe enough for Thomas and his men to land the helicopter without being blown to hell."

John nodded. Mary and John both glanced at one another. Their eyes said the same thing.

_Stay alive. _

_Get Sherlock._

He was quiet as he looked around at the activity and took out the rifle looking for the best vantage point to do his part to end the nightmare.

Seven minutes later and the forest and house and world disappeared to John. It all came down to one thing. All he could see in his narrowed vision was the man who was about to sneak up on one of the few agents who remained alive and uninjured outside, who was tied down by hostile gunfire.

_John felt the cool of the metal against the heat of his fingers. _

_He felt the breeze as it blew cooling his heated skin. _

_He felt his own breath. _

_In. _

_Out. _

_In and hold. _

The General's soldier fell in the distance with his hand still extended behind the unsuspecting agent. The sound of jeeps where heard in the distance. At the same time, the sound of a helicopter was heard overhead. What several minutes ago had been a growing quiet with periodic gunfire, now erupted into chaos once again.

* * *

_****__**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

**Four Minutes Away**

Thomas leaned and looked out of the helicopter as he disconnected the transmissions to Myers and Captain Morango. His pilot transmitted into the headpiece that they both wore. "I think that I will have to circle around again Sir."

"No," Thomas said as one hand held his headpiece and pressed gently to block out the noise. "We go down now." He gave similar orders to his men in the back to prepare to dislodge in the midst of hostel fire. The pilot nodded simply and after saying a prayer, turned the helicopter toward the landing spot in the front and started the descent.

With his binoculars, The General saw a helicopter through the trees. It appeared as if he was about to land

* * *

_**Current Day**_

Pain shot through his face like an arrow of fire through his skin and then it was gone. The pull of darkness pulled at Holmes as he fought against it. Another sharp pain to his face pulled against the darkness. That, along with his self-will, turned the balance and the hold of the dark was broken. Muffled voices and sounds then gained clarity as jumble images came into focus. He felt his body being dragged. There was the sound of a heavy door shutting. His brain cleared enough to process that someone was shouting at him.

He felt the sting of pain on his cheek again and realized for the first time that it was a hand slapping his cheek that produced the pain. Benedict opened then closed his eyes briefly against the sudden influx of light. After a moment, he slowly opened his eyes and blinked rapidly as a moan escaped his lips. The sounds came again. However, now they were not mere sounds but words with meaning.

"…Can you do it?" Santos was waiting for an answer.

Holmes tried to focus as he looked around a little too quickly. He winced at the sudden movement. There was blood on the agents dress shirt. His suit jacket was gone. Three agents were there surrounding him. He did not see Collins. Several of the agents that were in the room with him before the door was blown open with explosives were not there.

Holmes tried to get to his feet and almost fell. Two agents were by his side instantly to help him. The other agents and Santos looked at the door that they had recently closed. Their guns were drawn.

"Do you understand me Sir," Santos looked as If he was debating whether or not he should slap him again when Benedict caught his hands with his own right hand.

"I think I've been slapped enough," he said hoarsely with irritation. Benedict leaned against the wall. His senses were alerted and everyone in the room became silent as they listened to the sudden increase in gunfire.

"Can you walk?" Santos asked slowly and loudly. He sounded as if this question had been asked before.

Benedict half stumbled and was half dragged as a false wall was opened. Gunfire was heard close by. One agent nodded and stayed behind to give the fleeing persons time. His friend looked at him briefly. He nodded and was off behind the other two agents and Santos. The agent closed his eyes then opened them with his gun out. His own breathing sounded heavily in his ears as he waited.

Minutes later, the small group listened to the outside beyond the walls close to the house as they heard the sounds of a third world war.

They entered the codes to open the last false wall. One agent eased out and peeked around the corner. Gunfire was heard outside but not in the immediate area that they were in. It seemed to concentrate on the front of the house.

When they ran outside, gunfire erupted suddenly. It was coming from behind them. The agent's friend stopped unexpectedly with a grim look on his face. He awkwardly turned around. They were a distance away from the gunfire yet noticed.

The agent helping Holmes and Santos turned around. Holmes leaned on the agent, but was becoming stronger with each step.

The agent who stayed behind said. "I'll buy you time. Go!" With a last look, he turned around and waited. The two remaining agents looked bleak as they ran along still helping Holmes but less. He was strong enough to run slowly now. And they ran.

* * *

The agent at the door heard no more gunfire from inside. He would not know that his friend had stopped four of the aggressive soldiers. However, he would soon find out that it would not be enough. He waited.

They made it to the border of the woods but hesitated at the edge. The dwindling group heard the gunfire directly behind them. They looked as the agent fired his weapon. He took out another two soldiers and quickly ducked behind the wall.

Santos had a choice to make and made it. He could not believe that he was about to do what he was about to do. He felt that all of this had at least been partially his fault. He admitted to himself only that their situation would have been worst if Patel did not stand up to him. Not such an insect after all. He chuckled darkly and whispered to himself. "My turn."

"Sir?" The agent asked.

"My turn," he said louder as he looked intently at the two men. "Take him toward the road. Don't go in a straight line that's predictable. It's up to you now. For all our sakes, run you idiots!"

Benedict looked into Santos' eyes intently. Santos looked back. Suddenly, the agent with him nodded as they ran on. They instantly disappeared in the woods.

The General's men were firing again. He saw the other agent who was next to the exit. He was holding them off effectively for several minutes until suddenly a grunt of pain sounded as he fell to the ground. Santos closed his eyes briefly then opened them determined. He crouched low as he waited.


	51. Chapter 51

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 51

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. **Love to all**

_**Notes**_**, 3.2 Kilometers is about 2 miles.**

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It has been a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

**Thank you for your support and letting me know that you're out there. **

Love and tea, Zacha

* * *

"_**Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear." **_~ Mark Twain

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

The two ran through the forest slower than Holmes would have normally ran. However, both the agent and Holmes were physically exhausted. Holmes was also a little off centered and slipped once as the agent helped him up. He almost slipped a second time. They both gasped for air as they leaned on a tree for a second to catch their breath. The agent took a few seconds to enter some numbers in his mobile phone and hit send.

Three point two kilometers due-west Sir. A transport will meet us there soon. Our men are here and also a Doctor Wat…"

The whizzing sound of a bullet shot interrupted his speech. The agent looked puzzled into Holmes eyes and only looked down on himself when he saw the look of shock on Holmes' face. Holmes was looking at his chest. The agent looked down as blood spread on his shirt. It was as if seeing it made it real and the pain. The pain hit the agent like a brick wall. He found himself being lowered to the ground by Holmes.

"R…" The agent was trying to say something but his lips were quickly becoming uncooperative. Holmes lowered his ear to the agent's lips and listened. The agent locked glassy eyes with Holmes. Each man saw his own fear mirrored in the eyes of the other but for different reasons.

Sniper, Benedict thought distractedly.

Two eyes shifted briefly to the agent's chest then left hand. He did not realize that he had taken it. He squeezed it reassuringly. His eyes now traveled back to the agent's eyes as he listened.

"R…Run." The agent took his last strength and squeezed Benedict's hands.

A second later, his hand lost its grip on Benedict as the agent's eyes and body stilled. Benedict started to shake slightly as he frowned.

_What was all this for? _

_What made him so special that so much death was occurring because of him? _

_Maybe he should just lie down or… he glanced at the agent's gun and quickly glanced away. He purposely did not look at it again. _

Despair came down and caressed him as it asked for permission to swallow him up. Ben closed his eyes.

* * *

Collins and the other injured agents were being cared for and evacuated according to the severity of the injuries.

John and Thomas finally put up their guns as the house was flooded and overrun with agents. Captain Magoro was taking back the outside perimeter and the woods. Myers was coordinating and organizing care of their wounded and prisoner transport.

"Over here," a voice sounded.

John and Thomas ran to the room where a secret passageway was revealed because a false wall was pushed back. One Agent was dead in the passageway. They followed it outside. Another agent was lying just outside another false wall that open up to the garden. He was on the ground.

John frowned as he bent down to feel his pulse.

"Over here," John called loudly.

An agent came over and knelt down. "Apply pressure, don't stop no matter what, a medic is coming." Further to the edge of the woods, John noticed Thomas and another agent standing by another wounded agent and jogged over.

Thomas knelt next to Agent Santos. He was in the middle of a conversation with Agent Thomas.

"…They should be…, be almost half way…through by now." Santos was losing energy quickly.

John shook his head 'no' to Thomas after he did a quick examination. Thomas nodded slightly to show his understanding. He spoke to the agent next to him. "Stay with him a medic is on his way." A brief random round of gunfire started and stopped a moment later.

Thomas put his hand briefly on Santos shoulder and squeezed. Thomas grimaced as he suddenly stood. He and John ran in the direction that Santos indicated when Thomas' voice stopped him. "No John, the woods is not the fastest way. There is a side road that can lead to the other side of those woods."

Santos looked beyond the agent that was kneeling next to him. The agent looked up from Santos and saw a medic running toward them with a bag. The agent was relieved, Santos did not look good. Santos said something. The agent did not hear.

"What?" He asked.

Santos took a breath. "S…Sorry," The rest of his breath left his body. None entered again. His eye stared opened and unseeing.

He stepped aside as the medic started CPR. Everyone knew that it would not do any good. The agent briefly wondered something as the medic shook his head and stopped the attempt to resuscitate.

Who?

Who was Santos trying to say sorry to?

All of the remaining soldiers fled.

John followed Thomas as they ran for the jeeps and cars. Thomas called other agents to follow. John pulled out his phone as he ran. One person was on his mind.

Sherlock.

* * *

**"**_**You must be at the end of your rope. I felt a tug."**_ ~Author Unknown

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Benedict's phone vibrated. He looked at the agent then at the trees. It vibrated again. He dazedly picked it up.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"Where the hell are you? We're in the house now. Never mind, we see where you are." There was a one-second pause. John sounded a little breathy as if he was moving quickly.

"Get the hell up and go." Before Benedict could ask how John knew, John answered his unasked question.

"I could hear it in your voice. Don't you bloody give up. Due west, three point two kilometers. Get the bloody hell up, **I mean at this moment,** and don't you dare get yourself killed you git. **Now, move your arse!**" John's voice was raw with emotions.

"I wouldn't dream of incurring your wrath," Holmes replied with a chuckle as he blinked back embarrassing tears that threatened to slip down. After a last glance at the agent, he was already walking. He soon broke into a run.

His words now were more breathy because he was running. "Hurry, I'm getting tired."

John knew he did not just mean physically.

"I know you are but no matter what don't you dare give up, I'm almost there. Promise me." John was waiting for an answer.

"Agreed," Holmes said before reluctantly hanging up.

Sounds he had somehow blocked out suddenly came back in increased volume. He involuntarily flinched as he now realized how close the bullets were. He now also heard distant footsteps as it crouched against the forest floor. Holmes ignored all pain as the words of the agent rang in his ears.

_ "Run."_

So, Holmes did what he does best; he ran until he distanced himself away from the sounds of the shouting, until he came to a dirt road close to the house.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**A Short Time Later  
**_

He was by the road now and some vehicles were coming in the distance. He ran along the perimeter of the woods. The terrain was becoming more challenging as he ran toward the vehicles.

He stopped suddenly unsure why at first. He decided to trust his instincts. That is what John had said. He wondered if the vehicles had spotted him for the brief period where the terrain forced him on the road before he pulled himself back in the woods.

The pain medication was starting to wear off. It was getting more difficult to ignore the protest of his painful and sore body.

Two way shooting seemed to be coming from the forest now. The battle had spread to the woods but luckily, it was at a distance. Holmes frowned the closer it got.

He looked down the distance and now could guess what the vehicles were. They appeared to be a Land Rover, a nondescript automobile and several jeeps following close behind.

Benedict decided to run deeper in the woods but enough so that they would pass him down that road to shorten the time that John could get him. He would run toward John.

He started to do that when a close click from his side and a gentle "Stop." Command came. Normally Benedict might have taken his chances and kept running, but the knowledge of who the voice belonged to stopped him. He had accidentally run right into the man.


	52. Chapter 52

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 52

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. **Love to all**

_**Notes**_**, 3.2 Kilometers is about 2 miles.**

***************Warning: Chapter is M** because of a not nice man.************************

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

It has been a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.

**Thank you for your support and letting me know that you're out there. **

Love and tea, Zacha

***************Warning: Chapter is M** because of a not nice man.************************

* * *

_**"The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?"~ **_Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

"Sebastian," Holmes said coolly as he attempted to remove all traces of weakness from his voice and face.

The man moved from the dimmer lit forest to the more lit area closer to the road. This did not help. Sebastian even in the brighter light seemed to be encased in darkness.

"What will it be, an accidental bullet in the back, or take me somewhere private for a little more fun before you tell my brother Jim of my unfortunate death." Benedict looked closely at Sebastian for a reaction.

Sebastian snorted as he walked up to him in his suit. Even in the heat, he wore it. His only concession was to unbutton it, and he now buttoned it with one hand easily as he aimed the gun with the other.

Holmes realized several things at that moment. He also had one thing confirmed. "Not brother dearest," Benedict commented.

Sebastian's smile widened.

"Explains a lot," Benedict said. He was more off centered at the confirmation but strangely comforted at the same time. The maniac was not his brother. He felt like John was his brother except for several genetic differences that could not be explained away by saying, 'Mum's DNA is dominate in me and Father's in you.'

The twinge of a headache that Benedict felt earlier was becoming slightly worse. He ignored it.

"Some sort of mind manipulation enhanced by drugs, with memory implanted. Must be experimental but I was at least partially able to fight it." Benedict's mind even now was not able to resist working out the puzzle before him.

Benedict looked unseeing. "You, not Moriarty, ordered that soldier to attack me. He wants me alive and relatively unharmed. If any harm is done to me he would like to do it personally. He doesn't know what you doing." Benedict now locked eyes with him.

Sebastian for the first time looked impressed. He saw a glimpse of why Moriarty was so impressed with Sherlock Holmes.

"Worked it all out did you? Very impressive for a man recovering from so much mental and shall we say, physical trauma." Sebastian smirked.

Holmes said nothing but glared.

Sebastian knew that he shouldn't, but he had already done several things he should not have done. "Do you really think such a great man such as Moriarty is on the same level with you…"

Benedict's chuckle interrupted Sebastian's great speech. He imagined giving the speech before he shot Holmes with his smaller pistol. With the silencer on, of course. His rifle hung around his shoulder by its strap.

Sebastian frowned.

"Tell me, if one puts a monkey in a suit, is he still a monkey or now a man? You'll never be Moriarty even if you dress like him. You did not even have the courage to take care of me yourself; you had to have someone else do it." Sherlock looked pointedly down at his lower body then up again. He then locked eyes with him. "Couldn't get it up?" He pause to show his contempt for the man.

"You're delusional. **Jim **will never love, appreciate, or even need you. You're just his well-dressed monkey. You disgust me." Sebastian face had turned red, his hands shook from anger.

"I know that you are helpless without you little gun, so get on with it. Shoot me if you must but do shut up. You bore me." Sherlock turned away from Sebastian now. He managed to look both disgusted and condescending. He did not see when he put his gun away and the look of pure malice that crossed his face.

He felt Sebastian's body before he saw it. Benedict grunted as the killer slammed him to the tree as he pressed his full length against him. Both of Sebastian's arms came up to pin him to the tree."Still have a mouth on you? I see that you have not yet learned proper humility. A more thorough repeat tutorial is in order I see."

Holmes had his eyes closed tight. His head was turned to the side. He had no choice because Sebastian was so close that his head physically blocked Benedict from turning his head forward. His discomfort only heightened Sebastian's excitement. He pressed himself into Benedict again and said, "As you can see, I am able to get it up, as you put it."

He waited a second for everything to sink in. "Now get on the ground and open your eyes, I want you to see and hear and feel everything."

Benedict opened his eyes and smiled as he said, "Don't think so." Sebastian blinked rapidly and frowned.

"Imbecile," Benedict added as Sebastian opened his mouth then closed it without saying a word. He now realized his stupidity and that he was tricked. "Drop your rifle, slowly." Benedict added.

The killer did drop it slowly. He looked down confused. Benedict had **HIS** gun pointed at his side. He looked back up more confused.

"Personal space," Benedict said as his face darkened.

Sebastian frowned as he backed up a few yards. He thought of his options. The man after all wasn't a killer. He tensed his body. The man before him was weaken and hurt. He considered rushing him and trying to overpower him.

Sebastian felt the blood run down the side of his face. He put his hand to his cheek. Holmes had both hands outstretched and on the recently fired gun.

"Oops...That was a bad idea," Benedict said. "Yes, I am weakened. Therefore, I suggest that you stay still. The next shot will not be a flesh wound to your cheek."

Sebastian followed as Holmes lowered his arm. Benedict now aimed at his chest.

Benedict said. "Get on the ground and handcuff yourself. Don't bother with deceit by saying that you don't have any. I suggest you hurry, I've become quite irritable."

Benedict heard men moving in the forest near by. He was already too late but had to try. He was unsure if they were there to rescue or to kidnap him again, but anything had to be better than this maniac. Sebastian quickly complied now unsure of what Holmes would and would not do.

He wondered frowning as he clicked the handcuff on his own hands, how this man could have gotten the better of him. Holmes broke the rifle and took off running with the gun.

Holmes evaded everyone for a few minutes until he saw four soldiers. One spotted him and shouted. He turned to run in the opposite direction but was surrounded by soldiers.

* * *

A few minutes later and there were more bruises on him. There were also bruised bodies, bloody noses, and bruised faces on several tired and irritated soldiers. Benedict was roughly dragged to his feet as he tried to catch his breath.

The General walked up to him curiously and frowned as Sebastian walked up as well.

The general raised his eyebrows, as he looked Sebastian up and down. Sebastian tried to maintain as much dignity as possible. Several persons looked at him then at Holmes warily.

"Thank you General Baroon. I will take over from here." He went to take Holmes as he pulled hard on his handcuffed hand. Benedict grimaced but refused to vocalize the pain he felt from the action. Benedict refused to be intimidated and glared at him.

The General looked intently at Sebastian and frowned. Sebastian whispered to Benedict so that no one else could hear. Benedict's body stiffened but he said nothing. Holmes did however look away from Sebastian now. They walked away. Something bothered Baroon.

He saw murderous intent on Sebastian's face. He should know. It had been on his own face enough times. If anything happened to Holmes… He could not finish the thought as he thought of his pregnant wife. She did not tell him yet but he knew.

Baroon's voice stopped him, "I'll take him. We have a tight schedule and must transport him quickly."

"I will take him, I insist." Baroon said. Baroon's men suddenly materialized and blocked his way.

"Do you know who I am?" Sebastian asked dangerously.

"Fully aware." The General said with false humility. "Maybe it is my mistake. He took out his phone. I'll call Mr. Moriarty and ask for direction. You can explain the delay and why you did not immediately inform us when you had Holmes. I must have confused his orders. I'll simply explain the details. As I see them of course." The General's men hands had found their way to their guns now.

Sebastian put a false smile on his face. "I am sure that your transport is faster than mine." He handed a very quiet Holmes over to the General. Holmes was looking and taking in the scene before him.

When Sebastian became quiet, the general nodded. His men moved rapidly. They quickly moved Holmes to the car.

"Hurry they have taken back the house and some of the woods. Directly to the airport. No Stopping." They were about to put him in the back seat of the nondescript car but the General's voice stopped them. Sebastian walked up to the car they were going to put him into and leaned on it as he watched the scene unfold.

Two of Moriarty's men arrived now and walked up to Sebastian. The General said. "We'll take it from here."

Sebastian nodded knowing that he had been dismissed and walked away. Baroon's voice floated over his shoulder as he moved away and stopped him. "We found this gun on Mr. Holmes; I believe that it might belong to you. Do try to hold on to it this time."

Sebastian's body stiffened. He nodded with his head and one of his men ran and got the gun without Sebastian turning around. The general looked amused as they disappeared down the road.

The general smiled. His men prepared to leave. "Not in the backseat you idiots. From what I've seen, he might throw one or two of you out the window. The trunk of the car."

"Yes, General." His men said immediately with respect. The boot of the car was opened and Holmes was gracelessly dumped in it. A moment later a cloth was put over his mouth and the struggling man struggles quieted then finally stopped. The car immediately started to drive at top speed. They sped off down the road and vanished in a cloud of dust moments later.

The General waited for a while. He would not go with his men despite what Moriarty said. He was General Baroon. He lit his cigar now. One of his men opened the door to his Land Rover as he stiffly got in the back seat. He ordered his driver to start driving and to go to his other property. He had no wish to share any space with Moriarty again. He took out his mobile and called his wife. "Hello dear…"

* * *

Sebastian thought about what to do. He had made a critical error. Holmes knew too much. He sighed.

He might as well take credit.

He made a phone call. "Mr. Moriarty, they are on their way," he smiled at how pleased Jim was. He could not help but smile. "Sir what I suggested earlier. I suggest again that it is carried out."

He smiled. "Yes Sir."

He disconnected the call. "Did you do as I asked?" He asked one of the men in the vehicle.

"Yes Sir," one of the two men in the car said. He could ask or say anything in front of these two men. He considered them more his men that Moriarty's and that was alright because everything that he did, he did for Jim anyway.

Always, all for Jim.

* * *

Mrs. Baroon was talking to her husband as she walked away from her sister and guards to have a little privacy. "Your voice is going in and out. Where are you now?" She smiled as he answered. She was glad that he was having a nice relaxing drive in the country area.

"Did you really say that you were retiring?" She breathed a sigh of relief. She did not say anything but his job was dangerous. With their baby on the way, she was glad for a new life. She hesitated and bit her lips. This is not how she imagined telling him but there was no telling when she would see him.

She took a deep breath. Now was a good time before he started to speak again.

"There's something that I have to tell you," she started, her smile dropped. "Hello…Hello?" Mrs. Baroon sighed more dramatically. She was not able to reach him again. She would try again later.

Her sister walked into the kitchen. "Didn't tell him?"

"Disconnected, he is in the countryside." She said.

"There's time later," her sister said as she playfully and gently hit her with her hips.

"Sorry," her sister said more playfully to the stomach of her sister, as though the unborn child could hear.

"Idiot," Mrs. Baroon said although she could not help the smile. Her sister took her arm and chuckled. As she led her back to the group arm-in-arm.

* * *

Sebastian picked up the phone. As he casually pushed a button. He started to hum to himself. "Yes, it's me. What we discussed earlier. How close are you?" Sebastian picked up a pocket size electronic map. "Yes, activate it. I put it on the car. Follow it. I am sure that you know what to do."

Sebastian's legs bounced up and down happily, as his body suddenly leaned left, as the car had a sharp right swerve to avoid an obstacle in the road.

He borrowed the rear view mirror and tilted it so that he could look to the rear as they drove. He admired the fireball they just passed.

An exploded Land Rover burned at the side of the road.

Sebastian always did love a good bang, although he thought that the fire was lovely too.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Later  
**_

Later that day, Baroon's most trusted men received a call. He smiled at the sisters as he answered. He listened as his smile left his face. He looked at Mrs. Baroon with the mobile still in his hand. The laughing women never noticed his face.

* * *

A/N: More later this weekend. Um...Unless I collapse now and go in a corner to rock back and forth.

Love, Zacha :)


	53. Chapter 53

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 53

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. MapleleafCameo (more chapters), Kitiara88 (More about Thomas soon), gemstone1234 (Thanks for your kind words), Socalrose (Thanks for the multiple post. I hope this makes up for the twist and cliffies), Taylor501 (More extra chapters!), Lunita28 (Thanks for the multiple post. Hold on to your seats - Again!), Prothoe, (Thanks for the multiple post. I rather liked John as well.), Warm-Glow (Thanks for your kind word and your thoughts.), Voldemort101( Thank you. I appreciate you.),**Thanks, to all Tea and Cookies.**

**Thank you** ; Jenna Yemowa, eohippus , Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir , hJohn302 , hanging in there , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Burning Phoenix, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hJohn302, ShiverandShamy, Voldemort101, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hJohn302, Pencilx , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , Isaldaria, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Love to all**

_**Notes**_**, a car boot is a trunk.**

**Parts rated M to be safe.**

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone is currently on Morocco and trying to make it to Spain.

**Thank you for all your responses.**

********Important.** I gave you extra chapters. This upcoming week is busy for me so, 1. Read the chapters spread apart or 2. All at once, your choice. Next update early weekend. Peace to all.***********

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle."**_

_~ James Russell Lowell,_ "CambridgeThirty Years Ago," _LiteraryEssays_

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Kevin's eyes were drooping. He only had three hours of sleep since this entire event started. He tiredly reached for his cup of coffee. His hand almost knocked the cup off the table but he caught it at the last minutes and righted the cup. However, some of the dark brown liquid splashed in random patterns on the table and a few drops on his hand. He winced as he wiped his hand on his tee-shirt.

He winced again, this time from his headache. He took the plastic bottle from off of the top of the desk next to the two computers there. He took two medications for pain and dropped them in his mouth swallowing with a gulp of coffee that was still slightly too hot. He blinked his eyes then returned to the computer screen.

The signal for Holmes just disappeared almost instantly. Only one of two possibilities could make that happen. Either they discovered the chip and disabled or destroyed it, or he was enclosed in something with lead. A part of Kevin thought that he should give up while another part refused to. He did another search and expanded the area. His fingers tapped the keys to the computer again as he hoped against hope that the signal would be activated. He put both feet on the table next to one of the computers as he took another sip of coffee.

He waited.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

As the largest city in Morocco, Casablanca offered many modern luxuries. Sebastian Moran was a man with many sides to him. He was a cold bloodied killer and former soldier who could easily sleep on the ground in the middle of a forest just as easily as he could dine with rulers. Moriarty had taught him the latter. It was one of the many ways the Jim proved how much he cared for him.

Sebastian Moran walked into the luxurious Relais & Châteaux hotel as his cheek that was freshly stitched and bruised, drew a few glances and several stares. All who looked intently, quickly looked away when their eyes met with Sebastian's eyes. Something about the tall man's eyes in the Westwood suit made those around him uncomfortable. It was as if those eyes had malice behind them that was not well hidden.

His phone rang as he walked into the hotel. He picked it up as he easily walked up the stairs with his two most trusted men slightly behind him.

"Where are you now?" He asked.

_"Right behind them Mr. Moran. We are about to engage Sir." The voice on the other end of the mobile phone said_.

"Then do so immediately," Sebastian said with irritation. "Bring him to me, the more injured the better. If he should happen to die during the travel, bring him to me anyway."

_The voice on the other end hesitated slightly before saying, "Yeah, right. It will be done Mr. Moran."_

The call disconnected as a slow smile spread on his face. One of his men quickened his pace and opened the door to his hotel suite for him. He walked in, and walked up to one of the generously sized windows that overlooked the sea. Sebastian looked out as the palm of one hand pressed into the windowpane flat. The heat from the sun radiated to this hand.

One of his men opened the French doors to the balcony. The slightly salty smell of the Atlantic Ocean floated past his nostrils. He inhaled deeply and heaved a contented sigh.

Morocco long hours of sunlight would be ending soon. Moran smiled at the thought that that annoying Consultant Detective's life might be ending with the sun's last rays.

* * *

Mary and Captain Magoro looked at each other from across the garden. He walked toward her.

Magoro spoke first. "The last of the wounded was transported. Johnson and his men will be in charge of this site until we can rescue Holmes."

Mary Myers nodded to the other man as she thought.

She wondered how close they were to Holmes now. "We need to arrange for transport for when they retrieved Holmes." Myers was careful not to say **if **they retrieved him.

"Agreed," Captain Magoro, said as they both eyed the all terrain vehicles at the same time.

"It's secure here." The Captain said as he raised his eyebrows.

"We could make arrangements as we drive." Myer said before pulling at her lips with her teeth.

There were a few seconds that they looked at each other. Without a word, they both simultaneously started to run toward the truck at the same time. Magoro pulled out his mobile as Mary speedily pulled the vehicle onto the road.

"How close are you?" She asked someone on the other end of the line. She drove with one hand on the mobile and another on the steering wheel of the truck. They both glanced at one another. She noticed that he pulled out a computer and attached a satellite hookup. Myers smiled as she continued her conversation on the mobile. Magoro had already put several weapons and devices in the vehicle.

The roar of the truck's engine was heard as it disappeared down the dirt road with two agents inside.

* * *

The vehicles stopped briefly, after they filled up with Petrol. It was a few kilometers down the road. A soldier ran to the boot of the car and opened it. They checked Holmes pulse and after being satisfied that he was breathing, motioned to close the boot of the car when something caught his eyes. A glimmer against the fading light of the beautiful blue-green sky. Purple was joining the colors at the edge of the world.

The soldier reached down and put his hand into the young sleeping man's blue jean pocket. He pulled the partially revealed mobile completely out. He cursed as he put the mobile in his own pocket, closed the boot, and swiftly got into the back seat of the car.

They pulled off and the other vehicles followed behind. "What's that," the driver asked as he glanced in the rear-view mirror at the man in the back seat.

"A mobile," the man sitting in the back seat said with irritation. "What if this Holmes man had woken up and tried to call out." He added.

"Don't be dramatic; you know what the car is made of." The driver said. "Besides, with what he was given, he should be asleep most of the night."

"They should have searched." The man in the back seat insisted.

He snorted slightly, "From what I heard they did not have time." He added, "Relax we'll be at the airport before morning."

They could not hear the moan that came from the boot as they hit a heavy bump. They were not aware of Holmes high tolerance for drugs. Holmes stirred but did not wake.

The soldier in the back seat forgot about the mobile in his front pocket.

* * *

A beeping suddenly started to noisily sound and became louder. Kevin typed in numbers and codes and hit the enter key on the computer. Two blinking red dots materialized on a global map.

He pushed more buttons and entered more instructions on the computer as it complied and narrowed the map. Within minutes, a location to an accuracy of a kilometer came up. In another ten minutes, it would be to an accuracy of a few yards.

Kevin smile slowly spread on his face as he pushed the button on his earphone to activate it. He did not try to cover his excitement.

"We have something Sir…" Kevin proceeded to read off the longitude and latitude as he simultaneously sent the same information to their mobile devices. He repeated the same call to two other persons.


	54. Chapter 54

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 54

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. **Thanks, to all Tea and Cookies.**

_**Notes**_**, a car boot is a trunk.**

**Parts rated M to be safe.**

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone is currently on Morocco and trying to make it to Spain.

**Thank you for all your responses.**

********Important.** I gave you extra chapters. This upcoming week is busy for me so, 1. Read the chapters spread apart or 2. All at once, your choice. Next update early weekend. Peace to all.***********

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**When a friend is in trouble, don't annoy him by asking if there is anything you can do. Think up **_

_**something appropriate and do it."**_ ~ Edgar Watson Howe

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

John and several agents ran back to their jeeps and other vehicle as they jumped back in and sped off. They drove up to the site of Sherlock's last signal and were alarmed to find tire tracks and signs of a struggle. Thomas and several cars, went ahead as John and several more cars of agents quickly searched the woods. This was done in case Sherlock had collapsed close by. No signal or sign was found, it had suddenly stopped.

The vehicles sped away in a cloud of dust. John's efforts to reach Sherlock by mobile had gone unanswered. His mobile rang; he quickly picked it up as he hoped against hope that it was Sherlock.

"Benedict?" John said a little too quickly.

"It's me again," Thomas said.

"Any news?" John asked somewhat breathlessly. He did not bother to lie to himself and say it was because of the large amounts of activity of the day.

"Yes. Patel picked the signal up again." Thomas was not offended by the obvious disappointment in Doctor Watson's voice. "John we've almost reached them. I am sending you the coordinates."

One of the agents wordlessly took John's mobile and after a moment handed it back to him. There was no need for John to say what he was thinking. The agent driving went as fast as the vehicle would allow.

Within several minutes, they came to the blackened remains of a burned out vehicle that was on the side of the road. They swerved their vehicle to avoid crashing into the ruins. They knew that it was not one of their men. John frowned as he glanced at the remains.

They did not have time to wonder who the persons that were in the vehicle might have been.

* * *

A violent shift sent Holmes body sliding then striking the side of something firm, and cool. He woke with a startled gasp. He blinked away his fog. He was somewhere small, dark, and enclosed. After a few minutes of lying still, he felt his strength slowly return.

For a brief moment, there was panic. What had happened, where was he?

Data.

He needed data. His eyes could not give him any, yet, that in itself was data. He was somewhere dark. The violent yet rhythmic vibration indicated that he was in some kind of transport. The sudden shift as well as the sound of a motor told his mind the rest, as the fog lifted

No.

Not motor.

Car motor.

He was in the boot, or trunk of a car. Judging by the vibrations, he was traveling very quickly somewhere. He laid still, trying to quickly think about his options based on his level of health. His eyes noticed something. It was locked but it was possible. He waited for more of his strength to return.

* * *

The men followed closely as the signal took them within a few cars back. The traffic was light and the sun was setting. The man in the passenger seat picked up his mobile and listened to instructions.

"Yes Sir," The man said. He disconnected as he nodded to the driver.

Several cars that were spread out came in a closer pattern and positioned themselves as they were instructed. The man in the passenger seat looked ahead until he came alongside the other car. He suddenly pulled out his gun. The driver's eyes met the man in the other car briefly before smiling.

A popping sound was heard directly before that car swerved and recovered. A man with open vacant eyes lay on the passenger seat that was painted with streaks of blood. The driver pulled out his gun and returned gunfire.

* * *

Thomas was a kilometer behind the signal and gaining speed. He would reach them in five minutes.

Some kind of commotion seemed to be up ahead. Some of the few cars that were on the road were pulling over. One car was on fire after crashing. Another was turned over in a ditch.

"What is happening?" Thomas asked irritably into his headphone that seemed to be permanently attached to his ear.

_"Sir, it seems as if there is a second group that is shooting at the soldiers who have Holmes." A voice explained. "Who do we shoot at?" The voice further questioned._

Thomas took a second to think. "Everyone! But, do not shoot at the car with Holmes. I don't want a stray bullet to kill or injure him."

_"Yes Sir," The voice disconnected._

Thomas made another quick call.

* * *

Over a dozen cars flew through the mostly empty main road. The pop-clink sound of bullets hitting metal reverberated in the air. One car in the rare bumped violently into another causing it to go into a spin and crash into another car. An orange fireball rose quickly in the rear-view mirror.

There were the sounds of car engines being pushed to their maximum.

Holmes, hearing the sounds, suddenly felt the overwhelming need to get out. It took Holmes a few minutes to contort his sore body. He gathered his strength as he thought of the best possibility of escapes. He looked at the partition that could be pulled down to enter the back seat. It was locked but he was motivated.

Benedict kicked at the car trunk partition that opened up to the back seat. He kicked with his foot as he steadied and tensed his upper body. His handcuffed hands braced against the top of the boot to give his body something to push against. After only a few kicks. A sudden impact to the car sent it swerving to the right. This sent Sherlock's body to the left. He grunted as his body hit the side of the car.

Another impact was felt then another swerve and the car resumed a more straight pattern. He adjusted his body and tried again to kick violently at the partition that separated the boot of the car from the backseat. Several kicks and the partition finally gave way. He took his handcuffed hands and pushed in the last resistance.

Benedict pushed himself through and almost gave an involuntary gasp as vacant eyes met him. He grimaced as he pushed the body out of his way as the dead man's upper portion fell on the floor of the car. He stayed low in the car.

There were random popping sounds followed by the clink of metal on metal. He thought quickly. The faintest tinge of the familiar headache was starting to stir again; he ignored it best he could. He came up with a plan, it was risky but as things were going, he may not be alive in a few hours if he did not act. He did not know whom to trust except John.

Two different groups wanted him badly.

Both were willing to kill for him.

He did not plan to go with either.

He took a breath and quickly raised his body as he suddenly brought his clasped hands around the neck of the driver. The distracted driver noticed too late as Benedict's handcuffed hands came over his neck and pulled the driver back.

The driver lost control of the car as it weaved left then right in a jagged pattern. The two men struggled as the driver unsuccessfully tried to reach his gun with one hand as he held on to the wheel with the other. An elbow hit Sherlock's face as he grunted from the pain but held on. He ignored the blood that trickled down his nose. He wasn't sure if it was from being hit or his regular nose bleeds.

The driver passed out as Sherlock quickly grabbed the wheel of the swerving car. The unconscious man's foot pressed heavily on the gas as the car accelerated.

Sherlock's eyes widened as he noticed where the car was heading.

* * *

Thomas and the other agents were close enough now to engage the hostile forces.

This was most unwanted, Mycroft thought as he was driven by his staff in the car.

His staff tried to persuade him to stay away and let them handle matters, but he told himself that it was only logical to ensure that Sherlock was alright should all the memories flood into his mind suddenly. He would need to be there himself.

Mycroft glanced at his watch.

"We're almost there Sir," his driver said before he could be asked.

* * *

Thomas came to a crashed car. The front of the car was pushed in because of a pole. Steam and smoke rose up and dissipated as it broke away.

The driver was dead, killed by the crash. The soldier in the back was killed by a bullet. The partition was broken from the car boot. Agents ran over while others looked around cautiously. Thomas looked at the floor in the backseat where Holmes' mobile phone had apparently slipped out of the pocket of the soldier who lay dead in the back seat floor.

Thomas growled in frustration as his earpiece chirped once to show that he had an incoming call.

"**Yes!**" He said a little louder than he meant to and his hands found its way to his hips.

"Yes Patel." He said as he realized who it was. A slow smiled broke on his face. Moments later agents drove away in the now darken sky.


	55. Chapter 55

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 55

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. **Thanks, to all Tea and Cookies.**

_**Notes**_**, a car boot is a trunk.**

**Parts rated M to be safe.**

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone is currently on Morocco and trying to make it to Spain.

**Thank you for all your responses.**

********Important.** I gave you extra chapters. This upcoming week is busy for me so, 1. Read the chapters spread apart or 2. All at once, your choice. Next update early weekend. Peace to all.***********

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination." ~**_

Tommy Lasorda

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Two lone soldiers dragged a handcuffed Holmes along. Holmes had managed to stay free for only fifteen minutes before running into two of General Baroon's soldiers. Despite escaping, he was recaptured.

It was still a better fate for Holmes.

If it were Sebastian's hired men, he would have been dead, near dead, or wishing to be dead.

After breaking into an isolated home and killing the old woman that was there. One left to see if he could steal a vehicle to transport them the remainder of the way. Their comrades were either dead or delayed fighting the two sets of groups that were after them.

Waiting for backup was not an option.

The soldier's eyes moved from looking toward the door that his comrade left out of, to Holmes, back to the door again. Both he and Holmes were tired and breathing heavily. Blood, wet and dry was on Holmes nose, neck, and ran on his shirt.

A loud popping sound was heard outside. It sounded like a gun at first but it was only a car backfiring outside.

The soldier was momentarily distracted and looked toward that sound.

Benedict felt that he had to take the risk. He hit unsuccessfully at the gun in the soldiers' hands with his knee. This resulted in the soldier slamming Holmes body into the wall. Holmes brought his knee up again, knocking the gun loose. It fell to the floor discharging but luckily away from both men as the bullet found a wall.

Holmes brought clasped handcuffed fist down once, twice, then one last time on the side of the soldier's head in rapid strikes. A split second later, he grabbed the soldiers body and pushed with his remaining strength. The motion carried Holmes body crashing to the floor next to the wall while the stunned soldier fell backwards.

The soldier was next to a partial, ornate glass partition while fighting.

The glass partition behind the man splintered into a thousand sparkles that reflected the rooms artificial light as the man's body fell backward and settled finally on the floor.

With shaking hands, he searched the unconscious soldier's body and found the keys. He made a quick work out of opening the handcuffs despite his trembling hands. He considered stripping the uniform off the soldier and wearing it but the man was shorter and it would have drawn attention. He settled for his hat and jacket. He smoothly put on the soldier's hat and jacket quickly, pulling up the collar in an attempt to hide his pale skin.

He walked the short distance to the back door. He molded his body to the wall as he looked outside. Seeing no one, he firmly pushed the heavy door open.

He walked outside surprised and relieved by his good luck. He did not see the other soldier. His body protested, his legs ached slightly with fatigue as he stretched them walking. His head twirled as his mind raced.

"What now?" He asked himself, "What now?"

He walked thinking as he came to a more public area. He walked casually, so that no one could pick up that something was wrong. He hoped that the dim light would help to prevent attention being drawn to him. He also hoped his clothing and hat would take away from the fact that he was most obviously a foreigner.

Suddenly he heard someone say, "Stop," in another language. It sounded like Arabic. He did not respond. Holmes understood enough to know what was said but he ignored it. The command came in Spanish. Again, he ignored it. Benedict realized now that he understood several languages well and several more well enough to know that he was in trouble.

The voice floated in from behind him again. He came and blended into the light flow of people. In the heart of the tourist area, he saw a heavier flow and quickened his pace as he moved to his right. He hoped to get lost in the crowd. He quickened his pace more. "STOP!" The voice came more urgently. It was in English now.

"Damn." His mind commented.

He was in heavy foot traffic and heading for the stairs that led to an underground area. It was just yards away.

A bullet whizzed by his head as a cry of pain came from his left. Pandemonium broke out as the crowd started to run. Some people knocking down others that were slower in their escape. He ran along with the crowd. He reached the edge of the stairs. Another cry came to his right his time. Out of the edge of his eyes, he saw a body fall head first, down the stairs. He stopped for a second and looked at the woman, her opened vacant eyes told him that she was already dead. He cursed in frustration as he resumed running down the stairs.

His mind worked furiously as he ran. Get out the country, he told himself.

Information floated into his mind. Statistics, transportation information, cultural information, maps of countries that he was not aware that he had visited. He did not have time to question, he made a plan as he ran with the crowd.

A train to Madrid or Paris. A ferry was out the question, it would take too long to leave, but a train waited for no one. Passport, He looked like a Londoner he did have the accent. He assumed England to be the place of his birth or long time residence. He could claim that his passport was lost in the commotion of a madman shooting, believable. He might have to produce a lip quiver or two to look convincingly shaken. He would not have to do that much acting this time. He unbuttoned the soldier's jacket in the confusion and discarded it and the hat in the nearest rubbish bin. He kept the soldier's wallet.

There seemed to be two sets shooting at each other now.

The police?

He did not know, nor was he waiting to find out. He was about to try and bully his way on the train when he saw a few persons looking at him. He stood still for a moment.

One man was most unpleasant looking. He saw stairs going up at the other end and ran for them along with the thinning and scattering crowd.

Benedict ran - Again.


	56. Chapter 56

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 56

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. **Thanks, to all Tea and Cookies.**

**Love to all**

_**Notes**_**, a car boot is a trunk.**

**Parts rated M to be safe.**

A/N: **Important**. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone is currently on Morocco and trying to make it to Spain.

**Thank you for all your responses.**

********Important.** I gave you extra chapters. This upcoming week is busy for me so, 1. Read the chapters spread apart or 2. All at once, your choice. Next update early weekend. Peace to all.***********

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

**"_We are not only our brother's keeper; in countless large and small ways, we are our brother's maker._" **

**Bonaro Overstreet**

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He had been running for a time and was tired.

Cars were faded into the distance. He glanced back and ran for several minutes until he came to a secluded area and a shed. He ran to the back and easily broke the cheap lock. He stumbled in. He was hoping to catch his breath, he was close to physical exhaustion.

Benedict doubled over and tried to regulate his breathing. He did not look as he heard several footsteps behind him. He did not think he would lose them long. He did however hope that he had more time to recover. He wondered how they found him so quickly.

"Stupid. **Stupid!** Obvious," he whispered breathlessly to himself as he tried to gulp in air. A tracker was on him. He wondered what would occur in the next few minutes. Would he find a bullet in his back or something even more unpleasant?

"Sir you need to remain calm," the men said as they surrounded him. Five men surrounded him as more had their guns drawn and seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

Benedict did not reply. He thought his weakened body might best use its energies to defend himself. He intended to go with no one.

He stood upright still breathing heavily but better and extended his arms away from his body. His mind suddenly saw points on their bodies to strike as it calculated his best chance, against his remaining energy.

"Sir, we need to leave now." An agent closest to him said.

"Do you happen to have John with you?" Benedict asked as he tried to gain more time to rest before the inevitable.

"Well, no Sir, but we cannot wait." The man said quickly.

"Well then… that would be a **no**." He would not be tricked. Benedict noticed grimly that they were moving closer and positioning themselves for an attack.

Pandemonium broke out as they tried unsuccessfully to restrain him. Bodies fell with thuds as others jumped up. One person grunted as a crunch sound was heard then blood dripped from his nose. Several men finally managed to hold him. Everyone thought that it was over, until one man yelped in pain as he bit him, and elbowed another. Now two men had their noses broken.

Benedict pulled back his fist to punch the last man near him when a voice stopped him.

"**SHERLOCK HOLMES, STOP THIS INSTANT**!" A voice floated from behind with authority.

Something about the voice stopped Benedict mid-punch. Not just him, everyone stopped and backed away.

"Sir, we need to leav…" An agent started to say, but one hand held up from the man and the agent said no more.

Benedict turned toward him and lowered his hand slowly. The man was slightly taller than him. He wore the most perfectly crease pair of blue jeans, a designer shirt and an umbrella. There was a woman there as well. Beside the man with the umbrella, there was the man that he shot at the mansion. He did not look angry but instead amused.

The man with the umbrella walked close to him. He did not know why, but the man in front of him scared him. At the same time, the man gave him an almost overwhelming desire to run to him, knowing that he would be safe if he did so. He saw parts of himself in the man's eyes.

"Who are we to each other?" Benedict heard himself ask.

Mycroft smiled as he stepped closer. Benedict did not know whether to step toward him or away. He felt both urges in equal measure. He did not notice that his subconscious decided for him. He stepped toward him.

"Who am I to you? That has changed during our life. First, it was big brother, confidant, best friend, and then I was considered an annoyance, overbearing, mothering, extremely annoying, archenemy, and then brothers. Always, even at our worse. Brothers." Mycroft was half a meter away but stopped before touching. His eyes seemed to pierce into Benedict. "You do have a flare for the dramatic, little brother."

Benedict frowned while thinking, "My…Mycroft?" He asked as his eyes pierced the man's eyes.

Pain exploded in his head as he said the name. He never noticed that his nose started to bleed again. Mycroft frowned but did not try to close the short distance.

"Listen to me, you don't have much time," Mycroft was careful to keep eye contact. "You have to go into your mind, to your mind palace, as you call it. You have to open a door, a vital door. The doors of your palace are all opening at one time. All but one very important door. That could tear your mind apart permanently. My voice will guide you but you must hurry. Listen to me and go there."

"Close your eyes. Go to your mind palace now," he said again, "Tell me what you see."

A part of Benedict trusted the man, so he immediately closed his eyes and thought about his mind palace.

He opened his eyes to tell the man that he could not do it, but he was violently propelled as if pushed by an invisible hand into a place in his mind. He opened his eyes to find himself in a marbled hall. He had on a dark navy suit. He heard music.

A violin was playing. It was Bach.

He had been there before.

_"… Hurry you know where to go…" The voice of the man floated in._

He did know where to go. He walked quickly then broke into a run. He passed a group of paintings on the wall. He knew he shouldn't stop but his curious nature won. He looked at them.

There was one of an older beautiful woman; her painting seemed to be the one with the most color.

There were paintings of two younger women. One he did not recognize, the other was of the woman from the mansion who helped him.

One painting was of a slightly older man.

Remarkably, there was no painting of John that he noticed. He walked further away and stopped again. The palace of his mind was swaying now.

He noticed another painting off by itself. This last painting seemed to be set apart from the rest and in a place of honor, larger than the rest and specially framed. It was a painting of the man Mycroft. He looked curiously and was tempted to go closer when the voice belonging to the same man floated in.

_"… Don't dawdle … Hurry…"_

The swaying became worse.

Benedict broke into a run now. He ignored the first two doors. He came to the third door. A feeling of déjà vu came over him. He put his hand toward the door

"I'm at the door," Benedict's voice said, both in his mind, and whispered out loud.

_"… You've already unlocked it. Just open it…" Mycroft voice floated an instruction to him._

The swaying became shaking and the shaking became violent.

His hand almost reached the door but before his hand could touch it the door opened. A blinding bright light assaulted him. As it started to clear. Someone's face started to come into focus. In his mind the light died down and the face of John was in that room. It was filled with John's presence and full of his most precious memories.

"John," He said. As the name left his lips. All the doors closed and the violence stopped. The false memories faded away permanently, like a snowflake would fade in hot sunlight. He was about to walk in the room completely but something caught his attention.

He was propelled back as if some string now pulled him backwards violently.

He opened his eyes blinking. He took a moment to look at his brother's face. He had collapsed and Mycroft caught him and lowered him to the ground. His head was in his lap. Two of The General's men were on the floor. As agents tied and gagged one. The other by the angle of his neck was obviously dead as Thomas got up from that body.

"Sir, they're searching," Thomas started.

"They'll be more." Mycroft finished Thomas' thought. "Bring the vehicles as close as possible."

"Brother, nice to know you." He said. Everyone looked relieved. They were not sure what the interruption would do to him since he was not completely finished with the mind palace. Nevertheless, all seemed well.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said.

He did not notice that he ran a hand through Sherlock's hair. His little brother was pale as a ghost and just suffered a minor seizure. He was covered with sweat, bruises and some blood; however, he was there in his arms safe, and for now, that was enough.

Sherlock felt a needle in his arm as drugs were given by Anthea. He was not concerned however. Mycroft was there.

"John?" Sherlock slurred concerned. Two men lifted him as they started to move. Agents surrounded both him and Mycroft as they moved. Anthea had her gun out as well. Before Mycroft could answer, the voice of a very annoyed Doctor Watson floated in.

"Where is he?" John said as he and more agents with him ran close by with their guns ready to defend themselves. He saw Sherlock before anyone could answer and walked quickly beside him as they loaded him into the back seat of the Land Rover. Mycroft sat on one side, John on the other. Thomas and Anthea along with two other agents got in as well. Several cars drove before and after the Land Rover.

John frowned, as he looked Sherlock over. Sherlock sleepily watched him. Mycroft sat quietly as he text on his phone. He could not seem to stop himself as he glanced frequently to Sherlock. Anthea frowned as her fingers raced across her phone.

"A bit banged up, are we?" John finally commented.

"A bit," Sherlock slurred more slowly now.

"John," Sherlock said.

"Yes," John looked at him.

"You're late," Sherlock smiled slightly as his eyes closed then opened as his head jerked suddenly down.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and put his phone up. "Come here," he said as he stretched his arm behind his brother's head.

"Hum?" Sherlock asked.

"Lean on me and go to sleep," Mycroft said with all the big brother authority he could put in his voice.

Sherlock did not argue as expected but simply said, "K," and closed his eyes.

Sherlock had John next to him and his brother beside him. There were men still chasing him, a lunatic and a lunatics' shadow after him, and they were trying to get out of a country. None of that mattered. He felt safer than he felt in a very, very long time. They would take care of the details. They would keep him safe for now.

This knowledge made him close his eyes and stop fighting the pull of sleep. The darkness held no terror for him this time, only rest.

He was exhausted and was asleep within seconds.

John smiled as he watched Sherlock sleep in Mycroft's arms. Mycroft looked at John with raised eyebrows, daring him to say something. John held up both hands in surrender wordlessly.

"Sir," Athena said. "The three routes that we had for leaving the country, all have heavy traffic. We may have to shoot our way out."

They were on their devices as they spoke in whispered conversations when Mycroft's mobile rung.

"Sir," Myers said, "Captain Magoro and I thought perhaps another way out might be warranted." She paused as she briefly spoke to someone, "How close are you to Tangier's coast, or Casablanca?"

* * *

Sebastian slept in his luxurious hotel room. He would not know the irony of the fact that Holmes would come not

far from where he slept.

* * *

A call came into Moriarty as he waited in his private airplane. His smile faded. Mycroft was beginning to be just as annoying and interesting as his brother.

"The game continues," He said. He picked up the phone on the wall and spoke to the pilot. "A change of destinations."

* * *

A little over two hours later, a boat was moving swiftly through the waters. They were safely out of Morocco. A sleeping Sherlock Holmes did not know that the eyes of his best friend and loyal brother were on him. Thomas, Anthea, and a cocoon of agents surrounded him in protection, guarding him through the long night.

The boat and its passengers would soon dock safely on the coast of Spain.

* * *

**A/N:** More next Midweek. Tell me your thoughts.

BTW, Ch. 52 changed slightly.

Lots of Love, Zacha.


	57. Chapter 57

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 57

**RAT. WEDDING. BOW.** These are the clues for the next series of Sherlock, Series #3. Full interview on You tube. In addition, Parade's End if you need a Benedict fix. Also on YouTube or BBC 2. (Thanks eohippus)

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. Burning Phoenix (Are you relaxed. There we go), hanging in there (More to come), Taylor501 (Welcome back Sherlock, yeah!), hJohn302 (I sniffed as well), Lunita28 (Mycroft makes anything look cool even Jeans), gemstone1234 (Here we go again), Prothoe, (Thanks for the multiple post. Yeah for cool collars.), eohippus, (Thanks for the multiple post. I am glad that you liked the chapters particularly 56. I did as well), Socalrose (Thanks for the multiple post. I felt emotion writing particularly the 56th chapter. I understand.) , ShiverandShamy (More to come).**Thanks, to all Tea and apples this time. Who would not like a crisp apple?**

**Thank you** ; MapleleafCameo, Kitiara88, Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , Voldemort101, briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hJohn302, Voldemort101, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hJohn302, Pencilx , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , Isaldaria, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Love to all**

**T rated some future chapters may be M**

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone Sherlock and family have left Morocco and trying to make it to Spain.

**Thank you for all your responses.**

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**Sometimes the most urgent thing you can possibly do is take a complete rest**__**"**_

~ Ashleigh Brilliant

* * *

The dark blue of the water was soothing. The gentle rippled waves were replaced by the violent vibrations of the motored boat. They would be docking in Spain in less than thirty minutes. From there the destination to go to the safe-house or to go directly to the airplane had yet to be made. The decision would be partially factored on Holmes' condition.

Thomas turned as he observed the two smaller boats that had joined them when they left Morocco's official water space and entered international waters. They took a slightly longer route to avoid the patrols on various points of exit to another country. The remainder of the agents were finding their way across the border in scattered groups. They disguised themselves as tourist, business persons, and families. The remainder of the agents, wounded, prisoners, and Captain Magoro men had already left the country using ways that are more creative.

Thomas' body swayed roughly when the boat hit a particularly choppy patch of water. He instinctively held on to the rail of the boat. He grimaced slightly at the pain that the sudden movement caused. Thomas' strong arms stretched his tee shirt as he stretched his left arm in front of his chest in an attempt to stretch the tight muscles there. He closed his eyes as the events of the last near five weeks came into his mind.

_The kidnapping of Doctor Watson. _

_Sherlock Holmes rescue of that same friend. _

_Mycroft Holmes almost dying, as he attempted to run into a building with a bomb in an attempt to rescue his brother. _

_Locating Holmes. _

_Getting Holmes only to lose him. _

_Retrieving Holmes again. _

He left out the memories of him being shot. Those were not pleasant. He took a cleansing breath then opened his eyes. He chuckled when he thought of Sherlock and several agents beaten on the floor of the storage shed. He was glad that even with memory lost, he had not forgotten the near year of training that Mycroft Holmes forced his brother to take when younger. He did this when he had stumbled home after yet another beating. Thomas had been one of his instructors. He almost felt a sense of pride.

At least until another rough patch of water jerked his body up. He looked around to make sure that no one was looking and took a bottle out of his pocket. His strong, slightly callous fingers easily twisted the bottle. He debated between one or two pills for a few seconds. He sighed and chose two as he grimaced and dry swallowed it. He looked at the edge of land as they quickly approached it. The moon as it reflected on the ripples of the water and the gentle rhythmic rock was almost soothing.

He looked toward the door leading to the lower deck of the water vessel. Sherlock was in good hands. For this moment. This brief moment all was well. He knew that it would not stay that way.

He took a moment. This moment, to allow himself to - relax.

* * *

"_**The truth may not set you free, but used carefully, it can confuse the hell out of your enemies."**_

_Laurell K. Hamilton__, __Micah_

* * *

He was standing under the hot running water as it soaked into his hair as he shampooed it. He used the same shampoo as Jim. As the rivets of water raced down his lean muscular body, his thoughts were of Holmes and the torment he must be enduring.

He smiled, as he thought about the suffering Holmes had yet to endure; if he lived long enough for them to bring him to the location that he instructed. His mind worked out the details. He had to be careful. Moriarty was brilliant. Luckily, he was also distracted by Holmes. The thought spoiled his mood. If it was not so impossible. He would say that Moriarty was a bit careless. He was never careless before. Anger burned in him at the thought of the troublesome man.

He was careful to frame General Baroon for Holmes demise. A battle between The General and a rival drug cartel. He started to scoff, the late General Baroon, he corrected himself. He smiled at his brilliance. He now took the soap as he washed the last of the shampoo from his hair. The body soap was also the same one that Moriarty used.

That Jim used.

He did not notice as the friction of his hand against his skin created mounds of soapy bubbles, which slid, unnoticed on the shower floor then down the drain forgotten. Sebastian was too busy plotting his next move. His mind became lost on several problems that needed his attention.

A knock on the door was muffled by the water. The one who knocked did not wait for a reply but opened the door. Sebastian was surprised when a burst of cool air and the dissipation of the thick airborne mist of water occurred. It was immediately followed by a shadowy figure just outside of the glass shower door. There was a second knock, this time on the shower door interrupting his thoughts.

"Mr. Moran." One of his men said just outside the door. He felt growing apprehension as he partially opened the door further chilling his skin.

His man's frown told him all he needed to know before he spoke. "It's about Holmes, Sir…"

A minute later and a cursing Sebastian ran out of the shower as he almost slipped on the marbled tile and bumped into a side table. He lost the grip on his towel but left it there as he righted himself and ran into the master bedroom. One man that was packing his bags at the sight of the naked and enraged man quickly left the room. He would finish packing later. He went into the living area of the suite as both men looked wordlessly at each other.

It took a few second for both men to properly close their mouths and, wrap their brains around the idea of their boss losing his normally cool exterior. The two men talked. One would bring the Mercedes Bens around while the other would check out the hotel to save time.

They both heard a crash followed by a long explicative of curses. No one dared to venture in to check on the man's physical condition. Their boss had apparently slipped and fallen on the hard floor.

"Maybe he should have rinsed the soap off before he got out of the shower," one man commented casually to the other with a frown.

* * *

Patel was back home, in his mother's house where he lived with his two sisters. He was in the garden. His two teenage sisters were kneeling on the ground as they pulled up the weed that tried to strangle the beautiful tomato plants that grew thick and long. He was helping them. It was their time to talk. As the _man of the house_, he considered it his duty. Maybe, it was more than a duty. If he was honest, he did not mind.

He knew his sisters well. They opened up best when they cooked or when they gardened. Gardening was easier. He would sit and watch them. He would do all the digging and moving. The earth seemed to yield to their hands. Later, one of his sisters told him of her newest boyfriend. The second in three months, he noted quietly to himself. Kevin had insisted that he met the young man while he was in town. His sister had rolled her eyes but gave in. He noticed her trying to hide a smile. She was secretly pleased that he cared enough to meet him.

Kevin saw a particularly juicy looking tomato and grabbed it. His sister had her hands on her hips as she watched him wipe it clean on his shirt then take a bite that was entirely too big. A mixture of juice and seeds squirted on his shirt and ran down his mouth.

His sister snorted a very un-ladylike laugh. His eyes widen as he looked at her. He moved his head closer to her as he purposely took another big bite. Seeds and juice now squirted on them both. She was silent in shock for a moment until they both burst out laughing. He gave his sister a quick kiss on the cheek as she hit him playfully on the arm.

Both of their attention was diverted to their mother and other sister who were both walking toward them with what looked like a blanket and lunch. Kevin felt something on his arm. He looked toward the vegetation and the tomato plant but saw nothing. He looked again at his mother and other sister walking but again felt the pull on his arm. He looked at the plants next to him but saw nothing. Was someone there? Did this have to do with one of his cases? His work. Had he endangered his family?

He swallowed hard and looked around. His sisters and mother seemed oblivious to the danger. Suddenly the grasp on his arms became firmer and his entire body shook. He struggled to get away but could not

"No…"

Kevin awoke with a startled jerk. "No!" He heard himself say. His face jerked upward from the desk. His arms were numb from being laid under his head.

"Sorry mate!" A man slightly older than himself said. He took his arm off of Kevin with an apologetic look. "You were hard to wake," he paused briefly.

"I'm here to help so that you can get some rest," The other man smiled. "I hear that you've been awake for over forty three hours."

Kevin's sleep deprived brain tried to catch up. A dream, he was having a dream. Kevin sighed then stretched. His body was happy to suddenly remind him that he had been slammed into a wall a little more than thirty hours ago. His head started to pound. He ignored the other analyst as he took out the bottle of medication and put two pills in his mouth. He swallowed the pain medication with the cold cup of coffee.

He now dry wiped his face and the drool that had apparently ran down his mouth while he slept. "Authorization code and ID please." Kevin managed to ask.

"They wouldn't let me in here without it." The other analyst said somewhat put off.

"Humor me." Kevin said with a false smile.

The analyst took out his ID and swiped it in the machine. Kevin watched him warily as he made several phone calls, all of which checked out fine. Kevin hung up the phone. He had no idea why he felt an unease.

His dream came back to him.

Everything seems to be in order. Kevin admitted. It's all yours for the next six hours. Finally, the relief analyst seemed to calm.

Kevin raised himself to get up as the other analyst sat down. He punched in the necessary codes to transfer the controls to himself.

Kevin looked over him for a moment unsure why he was hesitating. Two agents walked by as he nodded to them.

"Your thumb," Kevin reminded him. The analyst hesitated and then put his thumb up to the scanner. He seemed to exhale a breath when the red light turned green. It took only a few seconds longer than it was suppose to but it did turn green.

Kevin's mind noticed little things such as the breath that he seemed to hold until the scanner turned green.

"Sorry a bit nervous, I heard about all the things that happened to the other safe house just inside the border."

"Oh," Kevin said suddenly feeling silly, he understood completely, anyone would get nervous after hearing of the death of another analyst in a safe-house so close by. "Yeah. He is, was I mean, a friend."

"Sorry," the new analyst said. "Peter, my name is Peter." He held out his hand.

"Kevin," Well I'll let you get on with it.

Kevin suddenly realized that his hair was sticking up in unruly ways, and there was a line on his face, from where he had fallen asleep with his face down on the computer desk.

They nodded to each other as Kevin walked off. Kevin sniffed himself. A shower was in order before he slept. Kevin stifled another yawn. He sighed to himself as he thought of how silly he was being.

He walked a few yards as he prepared to go up the stairs toward the bedrooms. He glanced back to the room he had just exited.

One more phone call would not hurt, he thought sleepily.


	58. Chapter 58

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 58

**RAT. WEDDING. BOW.** These are the clues for the next series of Sherlock, Series #3. Full interview on You tube. In addition, Parade's End if you need a Benedict fix. Also on YouTube or BBC 2.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**.

**T rated some future chapters may be M**

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone Sherlock and family have left Morocco and trying to make it to Spain.

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

_**"Fear cannot take what you do not give it**_." ~Christopher Coan

* * *

Mycroft felt him coming before he saw him out of the corner of his eyes. "Is he still sleeping?"

"Yes," John put his hands on the rail and looked at the water. "He woke briefly but seemed to be in pain so I gave him something for it. He fell asleep almost immediately."

John stared straight ahead.

Mycroft put his mobile up and looked at John frowning. Mycroft asked wordlessly. They had started to be able to tell when something was bothering the other after over five weeks in each other's almost constant presence.

"Do we know exactly what happened to him yet?" John asked as he looked in Mycroft's eyes.

"John you know everything that I do." Mycroft did not need to deduce to know that John had something on his mind that he was not sure if he should say.

"I'm listening," Mycroft said simply.

"I bandaged him best I could until we get to a safer location. A few cuts, facial bruises, split lip. There is a lump on the back of his head. I really should keep him awake for twenty-four hours but I did not have the heart. His two ribs appear to be bruised severely or cracked. I will need to examine him further when we are safe. He is bruised quite heavily especially on his torso and thighs. His pulse, blood pressure, and respiration are a little slow. In this type of situation I would expect them to be elevated so he was at some point drugged."

"He has been injured before. You both have been. John, your face is bruised and your lip is split as well. You know that even though he does not scar easily, he is quite fair-skinned and does bruise. What's really troubling you John?" Mycroft mind already came up with an answer but he wanted John to say it.

"I'm sure that you're right." John said nothing for a minute. "Of course," John started cautiously, "There was some dried blood." He paused again, "He's very sore, and in a lot of pain." He took a breath before finishing. "Some of the bruises looked suspiciously like hand-prints."

Mycroft was silent for a moment. "It's nothing John. He was fighting for his life for almost a day. I'm sure that involved wrestling and fighting. It's nothing." Mycroft decided.

"Are you sure that you are not feeling guilty for sending him ahead of you?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes… Yes I am," John admitted immediately as he now looked at the water.

Mycroft thought for a moment. John and his brother were so connected that he believed despite the illogicality of it, that if one were cut, the other would bleed. He had never witnessed a stronger connection or love that two people had for the other.

If he was anyone other than Mycroft Holmes, and gave into such emotional nonsense, he would say that he was once jealous of it. Now, he understood. He was starting to feel a connection to John as well. He was almost becoming like a little brother, as well as he was like another big brother to Sherlock.

He almost felt like he had two brothers now. Of course, he would never say these things out loud, that would be unthinkable and he did have a reputation to think of.

Finally, Mycroft spoke.

"John, if you did not stay back and go into the lab. We would not have been able to analyze what they gave him. We would not have known the appropriate treatment in time. We would have been able to save his body, but his mind would have been gone. Could you really imagine that brilliant mind of his trapped permanently in his body, as that body waste away as well?"

Mycroft felt an urge to do something he normally would never do. He shook his head slightly at himself before sighing. He then put his hand on John's shoulder. John turned from the water and looked at Mycroft's hand in surprise then looked at Mycroft. He had John's full attention.

"You saved him John, thank you." Mycroft let his mask slip for a moment and allowed John to see the sincerity there. "Don't worry he's fine or will be in a week. More exact he'll sleep the first day. Be up in two days and slightly bored. Very bored by the third and driving everyone to madness the remaining four days."

John actually let out a chuckle. As his hand came up and rested on Mycroft's hand for a few seconds. He nodded and walked away. Mycroft watched him go. He noticed John slow then stop.

"Thank you Mycroft," John turned his head only. He then nodded to Mycroft, as he looked him in the eyes. He then turned around and started to walk away again.

Anthea was walking from the other side of the boat as she came close to Mycroft. She finished texting on her phone and with a hesitation put it in her pocket. She was still in her blue jeans Mycroft noticed. Mycroft after hearing that Sherlock was stable, immediately changed into his three piece suit.

"Kitty." Mycroft said as he stared ahead at the water.

Katithra raised an eyebrow. She was always surprised the few times when Mycroft called her by her real name. Very few knew what it was, even the other agents called her Anthea.

"Sir," She said.

She had a smile on her face. She heard the last part of the exchange between Doctor Watson and Mycroft. She had never noticed her boss to interact with anyone the way that he did with The Doctor. Doctor Watson also seemed to be the only one who the Holmes brothers allowed to handle them. No one was fooled. Both of the Holmes could only be handled if they wanted to be.

"Everything seems to be going well so far, Sir." She knew she did not need to say that. They could almost read each others mind after all the years they were together.

He said nothing for a moment. "You should be resting Kitty. We have a big day tomorrow."

Two Kittys in a row, She noticed. That had never happened before. "Shouldn't you be resting as well, Sir?" Anthea asked looking at him.

"I never sleep, is not that the rumor?" Mycroft asked with a slight smile.

"That was last month, Sir" Anthea had a serious contemplative look on her face. "This month's gossip is that a set of secret government experiments gave you the ability to read minds."

Mycroft looked at her in disbelief for a moment before he chuckled.

Anthea smiled. "That mind of yours, the way you read people. It does give fire to the rumors Sir."

They both smiled now. They also looked at each other a little longer than was necessary.

"I've better get to bed Sir. Thomas wanted to stand guard." Anthea said. She turned and smiled to herself when her back was to him. She walked away.

Mycroft looked at her go. More exact. He looked at her go in her blue jeans. He had only ever seen her in dresses and skirts. He raised his eyebrows as he watched her go. Blue jeans suited her he decided. He told himself that that was the reason that he looked at her walk away. He was having a logical debate over blue jeans verses skirts.

He did admit, but only to himself, that it was a most enjoyable logical debate.

* * *

The relief analyst, Peter, looked around as he observed everyone walking. He pulled out a small electrical device. Sweat came to his upper lip and the back of his neck. He glanced around one last time as he prepared to push it.

* * *

Mycroft prepared to go down to the lower level when his phone rang. He first frowned. He then raised an eyebrow. Last, he sighed as he put his left hand to his eyebrows and squeezed them together

"Put her on," Mycroft said in a long-suffering voice.

"Miss Adler, Feeling better I see."

"Quite," Adler said. Mycroft frowned slightly. Her voice still had all its fire but there was a physical weakness to it that could not be ignored.

"The airplane is trying to take off Ms. Adler. Don't you think that it is in your best interest to allow it to do so without … disruption?" Mycroft tried to reason.

"No one is answering my questions here. Where is Sherlock? He needs medical care as well. Before you say it. No. I am not leaving without him!" She tried to put her normal authority in her voice but it failed.

"There were… Complications. We should be there shortly." He paused, "I can assure you that everything is fine. So if you would allow the crew to evacuate you, all will be well." Mycroft already knew her answer; she was a stubborn as his brother.

She did not say a word. Mycroft could almost sense her folding her arms defiantly.

"We will be there shortly Ms. Adler." Mycroft finally said. If Sherlock found out that he forced her against her will, he would not be happy.

"I'll be waiting," She said weakly. She somehow was still able to project the right amount of sweetness in her voice.

"Of course," Mycroft said as he ended the call.

His brother had few friends, but those he did have, had a fierce loyalty to him. He sighed and looked to the east as he noticed the sun rising. They were almost to the coast now.

"We'll be home soon little brother." He whispered as the wind cared his words out to sea.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for telling me your thoughts. Love to all.


	59. Chapter 59

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 59

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. Socalrose (Thanks for the multiple post. Yea for Kitty.), bruderlein (Peter good or bad), Taylor501 (Week survived, Thanks), eohippus, (Thanks for the multiple post. Enjoy the nice while you can :), gemstone1234 (Your paranoid feeling might be correct.), ShiverandShamy( Hope your getting rest. You'll need it), Prothoe, (Thanks for the multiple post. Go Katithra.), hJohn302 (Thanks for the multiple post. Take time to rest.), Voldemort101 (Good Doctor Who reference catch.),**Thanks, to all Tea and crisps?**

**Thank you** ; Lunita28 hanging in there Burning Phoenix MapleleafCameo, Kitiara88, Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hJohn302, Voldemort101, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hJohn302, Pencilx , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Prothoe, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , Isaldaria, Tammy, Taylor501, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Love to all**

**T rated some future chapters may be M**

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in Spain.

**Thank you for all your responses. This is something to get you by until later this weekend. Remember that I gave you all a rest.**

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**The soul that has conceived one wickedness can nurse no good thereafter."**_ SOPHOCLES, _Philoctetes_

* * *

_Current Day_

___Current Time_  


Peter looked around as he observed everyone walking. He pulled out a small electrical device. Sweat came to his upper lip and the back of his neck. He glanced around one last time as he prepared to push its button.

Suddenly the computer screen flashed and all the equipment went blank.

He tried turning the computers back on with a hard start. It did not work. A curse slipped pass his lips.

**Three seconds**.

During that time, Peter attempted not to have a heart attack. He cursed creatively under his breath. He did not even push the button yet, did he? He could not help to have his mouth open. He looked discreetly at his hands.

**Five seconds**.

It could not have caused the power outage could it? His hand subconsciously wiped at his upper lip and forehead. He attempted to push several buttons and he entered several codes as his fingers flew across the plastic keys at such a fast rate they were actually cramping. He ignored it.

**Nine seconds.**

If anyone traced this to him, it could be his life or imprisonment. His fingers kept flying gracelessly across the darkened keys.

**Eleven seconds**.

He tried one more sequence of codes. The computer blinked on and off then on again.

Eleven seconds. It was only eleven seconds. Why did it feel like an eternity?

Peter wiped a shaking hand to his face again. He had to get himself under control. He unsteadily took up the bottled water and opened it draining half the bottle. His breathing was getting closer to normal. It was his luck that no one had seen him.

He prepared for the second time to push the button on the small electrical device. He held his breath as his beefy fingers contracted then pushed the button. There was no sound, however, a series of symbols and letters ran hurriedly across the device as he held it in his hand. Peter smiled. All his confidence came back as that smile lined his face.

He was back on track.

* * *

_Current Day_

_Current Time_

Sherlock mumbled in his sleep. John was asleep sitting up next to Sherlock. He refused to leave his side but exhaustion, residual drugs in his system, and his own body trauma had won out. He softly snored with his head leaning back against the vehicle seat. Mycroft was tired but not willing to close his eyes yet. They were on land now and starting their long journey.

Sherlock was half curled flat on the transport seat opposite where he and John sat. Thomas, and Anthea, were scattered between the two other rows of seats. They had two drivers who took turns behind the wheel. Thomas was finally getting a nap with his head leaning on the driver's side window.

Sherlock's long limbs contorted to make himself fit. He would grimace while still asleep, even though he would never fully wake. This occurred whenever a particularly deep grove in the road was driven over. A convoy of vehicles proceeded through the early hours of the morning. Two vehicles drove before them, and two directly after them.

Mycroft finished typing on his mobile and put it away. Sherlock was mumbling. John, as if his Sherlock radar went off, started to stir. He stretched and yawned. He blinked as he ran a hand over his face and rubbed at his eyes. He focused on Sherlock as he continued to blink away the fog of sleep. Sherlock mumbled again. John put his head close by as he tried to understand what he was saying. Mycroft frowned and got closer to Sherlock as well.

"Mycroft," Sherlock muttered as he started to toss his tall frame.

"He's calling for you," John said quietly as he looked at Mycroft. "He must be dreaming," John said as he frowned while turning toward Mycroft.

Sherlock spoke again.

"Mycroft … Stay." John looked at Mycroft.

"He's not dreaming," Mycroft, said, "He's remembering, John."

There was only one time when Sherlock asked him to stay.

Mycroft looked out the window to the vehicles and frowned as he watched the beautiful countryside. Stunning foliage whiz past the windows as the rising light reflected off the car glass. Mycroft slipped on his sunglasses as he squinted and allowed his eyes to adjust to the rising sun. Mycroft took a deep breath of the fresh air. The air was still cool and had not been heated yet by the sun.

Mycroft became lost in his own memories.

* * *

"Sometimes it's the smallest decisions that can change your life forever."

~ Keri Russell

* * *

**Mycroft's Memories at Age Seventeen**

Although he was accepted at Oxford at sixteen, Mycroft had delayed going for almost a year. He took long distance courses and special lectures. He now stood at the door to the only home he had ever known and knew that it would not be the same. Sherlock was beside him as he carried his bag. Sherlock refused to let his butler do it. Mycroft raised an eyebrow but tried not to smile as he saw his too thin brother struggle with his bags. He barely was able to keep it from dragging on the ground. Mycroft carried the umbrella in his hand that Sherlock had given him. It was very expensive. He wondered how long Sherlock had been saving.

The elder brother had easily graduated early and was hesitant to leave Sherlock. Sherlock's intelligence seemed to make him a target of bullying. He seemed to frequently have a bruise on him somewhere. He would never say who did it. Mycroft suspected the boys in his class. They always seemed to pick on him when he or his Mum was away. None-the-less, their father would not allow any more delays.

The bags were taken from Sherlock and put in the boot of the car. Sherlock stood beside Mycroft as he shuffled from one foot to another. He bit at his lips as he looked at Mycroft then at his feet.

Mycroft waved to his parents as they stood by the door. He then turned his attention back to his little brother. Although they both agree to no emotional displays, Mycroft had the almost overwhelming urge to hug his little brother. He held out his hand to shake his brother's hand.

"Any last words of advice little brother?" Mycroft asked with half a smile. Oxford was where their father went. It was where both Holmes boys were expected to go.

"I think you will do acceptably at Oxford." Sherlock said as he patted Mycroft on the shoulder stiffly then took his hand and shook it firmly. Sherlock did not let go of his hand, but surprised them both by embracing Mycroft in a hug.

"Stay," Sherlock whispered into Mycroft's ears only. Mycroft was taken aback by his normally strong and independent brother's broken voice. He did not know what to say. His father gave him no choice.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft started to say. Sherlock pulled away suddenly and nodded to his big brother with what was supposed to be a smile but looked more like a facial grimace. Mycroft watched as Sherlock walked away and disappeared into the Holmes family manor.

"Master Mycroft, you'll miss your train." The driver said.

Mycroft swallowed the lump in his throat. He looked at his mother then his father. His face lingered on his father as he was driven away. He sighed and turned. He turned to the back window of the car. That is when he saw him.

Something was nagging at the back of Mycroft's young mind. He could not see it. For all his genius, he was still a seventeen-year-old young man in denial. The image of his eleven-year-old brother looking at him from his bedroom window would haunt him for years to come. He would never truly forgive himself.

He kept looking as his childhood home became smaller and then completely disappeared into a memory.

* * *

Information for the location of Sherlock Holmes came in. It informed the safe-house of where he would be. Plans had changed. He would not be coming to that safe-house anymore. His location in the next five hours was reported as well. Peter got up and reported this information to his immediate superior. He could not afford to bring suspicion on himself.

Peter sat down. He did not have much time. Patel would resume his position soon. He again pushed the device. It almost instantly transferred the information from the computers to the small device. He discretely took out a memory card and slid in another. He repeated the process.

Soon he would be on his way home where he would disappear and enjoy the money that would be transferred to his new bank account in Switzerland.

* * *

Moran drove and crossed the border as he raced at top speed for the Mercedes Benz. He was not in a very pleasant mood. He swallowed pain medication. The stitches on his face pulled every time he spoke or moved his facial muscles. His right thigh ached dully to remind him of the bruise that he received when he fell on the floor in his hotel master suite. Sebastian almost welcomed the pain because it fueled his anger. His mobile rang.

"Yes," Moran said with irritation.

"Where will he be?" He asked as he listened and typed an address into his portable computer screen.

"Is the turn coat still in there?" Moran asked as he turned the mirror toward his face even though he was not driving.

Something that the speaker on the other mobile line said cause Moran to chuckle.

"I want to be there personally." He disconnected the call and started to smile. The stitches started to pull but to Moran, it was worth it.

It was very much worth it. Sebastian leaned his head back to enjoy the rest of the ride.

* * *

A/N: More late weekend. Lots of Love.


	60. Chapter 60

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 60

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. Kitiara88(Thanks so much), hjohn302 (Thanks for your encouragement), Socalrose (Thanks for your consistent encouragement.), gemstone1234 (Thanks for your support.), hanging in there (Nurture the muse :), Esstell ( There is more), Prothoe (More sobbing time), eohippus, (I am glad that peter worked:), ShiverandShamy( Rest and tea dear. I hope this brightens your day.), EscapedRabbitBlueBell (Thanks for going the extra mile to get a comment to me), Voldemort101(Thanks for lending me your eyes.),

(I know everyone is use to me answering reviews quickly but I am a little behind in answering reviews. I will catch up in 48 hours or less I hope. My apologies.) :)

**Thanks, to all You make it fun.**

**Thank you** ; Taylor501, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix MapleleafCameo, Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hJohn302, Voldemort101, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hJohn302, Pencilx , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Prothoe, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, ShiverandShamy , Isaldaria, Tammy, Taylor501, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Love to all**

**Things to know. 1. Paracetamol is a pain reliever. Tylenol.**

**T rated some future chapters may be M**

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in Spain.

**:( Sorry, I meant for this to be up 24 hours ago. But, I gave multiple chapters. Read one a day or all at once, the choice is yours. **

************Warning for those who are sensitive. **Read for more information. **Those who are not just skip this section and enjoy the story. ** Contain spoilers. Still there? Okay. Chapter 61 and 62contain flash backs and non-graphic abuse. If this bothers you in any way, read chapters 60 and 63 only. You will still understand the story, I promise. ***************

Make **yourself **happy either way and enjoy the story.

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe**_." ~ William Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_

* * *

_**Current Day  
**_

_****__Current Time_  


Lestrade wiped his face as he drank the stale coffee. It was another late night. He had kept himself busy so that he would not think of the fact that Sherlock had been missing for over five weeks, and John had been kidnapped for more than a week. He had heard nothing from anyone and all his inquiries had resulted in the same answer.

_The matter was being looked into, and the authorities would get back to him as soon as possible._

Only his position in Scotland Yard had even earned him that much of a proper rejection.

His mobile phone rang. He sighed resigned as he picked it up.

"DI Lestrade speaking," he answered. He listened, first in confusion, and then in wonder as a slow smile dared to creep up his face.

"He said nothing, he only listened. "Thank you," he said as he ended the call. Greg Lestrade opened then closed his eyes as he took a few minutes to settle his emotions. He picked up his mobile again and called a number that he knew by heart.

"Mrs. Hudson," he hesitated, "There's news…" he waited for her to calm down and listen.

"They have them," he said. "Both of them," he clarified, "John and Sherlock…"

Lestrade smiled wider.

* * *

_**Current Day  
**_

**_Current Time_  
**

Everyone was awake now. John was sitting in the corner next to Holmes curled up body. He was feeling his pulse. Satisfied, The Doctor gave him another shot in his arm. The younger man frowned in his semiconscious state but did not wake up. Sherlock would mutter as if he was having a conversation with someone even though he was still asleep.

Thomas looked around as he spoke on his mobile. He, Captain Magoro, and Myers were planning strategies by three-way communication on their mobile phones. Anthea and Mycroft were on their laptops and Smartphone devices. The other driver was awake and talking quietly to the man who was assigned to drive. Mycroft mobile rang. He looked at the caller ID and rolled his eyes. He schooled his voice and pushed the button to connect.

"Yes David," Mycroft began his conversation.

As Mycroft began his conversation, he wrote something on the computer for Anthea to read. She nodded and pulled out her Smartphone.

Fifteen minutes later and Thomas finally ended his mobile calls. He sighed as his fingers brushed the cool leather seat. He deposited the mobile on the seat beside him but his long fingers stayed loosely contracted around the device. He became lost in thought for a moment. He was concerned that Moriarty's men would try again before they could leave the country. The younger Holmes had done a commendable job defending himself, and escaping, but he was physically beyond his limit. If another attack occurred, Mr. Homes would not be able to defend himself or escape in any way. Thomas was determined that he would not be put in that unfortunate position.

Thomas waited patiently for Mycroft to finish his conversation as he looked at the tranquil scene that was passing their car windows. Deceptively calm. Thomas bothered his lower lip then stopped when he noticed his subconscious behavior. It was not like him to give into nervous gestures but he was also a practical man. It was not over. Thomas sighed then winced. He was growing more uncomfortable physically and needed more pain medication. His pride would normally not allow him to take any pain medication in front of anyone, but he would not let pride stop him from doing what was necessary. He discreetly took out the Paracetamol and took three. He quickly put the pills in his mouth and frowned slightly. He stretched his chest muscles as his long fingers closed around the water bottle. He closed his eyes, as the cool liquid helped to wash the dry pills down his throat. He screwed the bottle cap back on and kept it in his lap for a moment. He could not afford for pain to slow him down. He also could not afford to take anything stronger. He finally opened his eyes but looked immediately out the window.

He continued looking out the window and waited for Mycroft to finish his conversation with the Prime Minister. The temperature had increased along with the rising sun. Thomas felt heat on the back of his neck and head. This heat was not coming from the sun but from the eyes of practically everyone in the vehicle. He ignored their stares.

Thomas heard as Mycroft finished his conversation on the mobile. Mycroft looked at Thomas when he was finished. It could not be avoided any further, Thomas thought. With a noisy breath, he turned his face away from the window. With the exception of Sherlock Holmes and the driver, every eye in the vehicle was looking at him.

Intensely.

Doctor Watson was not only looking, but his eyes were traveling to his torso, and his arms were folded.

"You should allow me to look at that," John said with a forced casualness.

"I assure you that I am," He looked at their faces. He then frowned. "Functional." He said with a look that dared anyone other than Mycroft Holmes to say anything.

Mycroft eyes seemed to bore into his soul. Thomas resisted the urge to squirm. Holmes finally seemed satisfied and started speaking. Thomas simultaneously relaxed and exhaled a breath that he did not realize that he was holding. He spoke.

"We have notified the safe-house of our change of plans earlier Sir. You were on a call. We will be arriving at our destination soon."

"Is everything in place," Mycroft asked already knowing the answer.

"Yes. I believe that it will work Sir." Thomas said with confidence.

Everyone's attention was diverted to Sherlock. He started to almost thrash about and his speech suddenly became clear, not mumbled. "Father no… please don't… stop. I'll do better." Sherlock's voice sounded younger, vulnerable. Sherlock's body stiffened and he moaned as if in pain. Sherlock was suddenly quiet except for an occasional moan. They were used to his mumbling. Not a word spoken out clearly and in distress.

Everyone but Mycroft looked at Sherlock then each other unsure of what to do. They were unsure of what was happening or what to say. John looked at Mycroft, but Mycroft was only looking at Sherlock and ignoring everyone else.

John opened his mouth to speak but never got the chance.

"Do you mind if we switch places?" His voice was gentle; however, anyone who knew Mycroft knew that it was not a request.

John nodded and they both changed places. It was not much of an effort in the roomy vehicle.

"It's a little soon but should I give him another shot?" John was already reaching through the metal container that held most of their medical supplies.

"No John," Mycroft said without truly turning his attention away from Sherlock.

He put his head close to Sherlock who had begun to thrash about again mumble.

"Father stop- stop. I don't know what I did wrong… Mycroft… Myc… Myc…"

Mycroft listen as he bent his lips close to his brother's ears and whispered. "It's alright Lock, It's just a memory, It-he can't hurt you." He spoke so quietly that only John heard.

"What did he do to him?" John whispered out loud with a grim look at his face.

Mycroft ignored his question. He did not answer and paid no one but Sherlock any attention. He continued to whisper reassurances to his brother. His mind, along with his brother's, was trapped in the past.


	61. Chapter 61

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 61

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. **Love to all**

**Things to know. 1. Paracetamol is a pain reliever. Tylenol.**

** *********rated M************

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in Spain.

**:( Sorry, I meant for this to be up 24 hours ago. But, I gave multiple chapters. Read one a day or all at once, the choice is yours. **

************Warning for those who are sensitive. **Read for more information. **Those who are not just skip this section and enjoy the story. ** Contain spoilers. Still there? Okay. Chapter 61 and 62contain flash backs and non-graphic abuse. If this bothers you in any way, read chapters 60 and 64 only. You will still understand the story, I promise. ***************

Make **yourself **happy either way and enjoy the story.

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title."**_ ~Virginia Woolf

* * *

**Memories – ****Sherlock's Point of View.**

Sherlock stayed in his room most of the day. His mother was settling all of his maternal grandmother's property in the Hampshire County. Sherlock at thirteen had learned to stay out of his Father's way. He had tried to stay out of his classmate's way as well. He was a loner, and except for his mother and Mycroft, spoke very little the past year to anyone. Unfortunately, when he did speak, most people paled as he easily spoke of things that were apparently supposed to be secrets.

He was on holiday at home and wanted to just have a peaceful day. His Father told him in a moment of irritation to take his experiments into his room. He moved everything including his microscope that his mother purchased for Christmas. He moved to his desk and sat. He pulled out the lab culture that he had been growing for ten days. He had to use his most congenial voice to convince Mycroft that despite his young age; he was capable of growing cultures without starting the next world plague. After an initial refusal and the proper precautions, he had relented.

He smiled as he prepared a sample to be transferred to a microscope slide. He suddenly stopped smiling and looked around. He was in the relative safety of his own room but felt strange smiling. He knew how much his smiling irritated his Father. His Father never came into his room. Not since he was five. He became nervous. His Father was increasingly and irrationally irritated with him since he had come home for the holidays. His Father seemed to be following him around behaving strangely. Strangely even for him. Also, his Father looked at him oddly.

He looked at the clock. Mycroft had said that he would be visiting for the weekend. He was seeing less and less of him since he got his promotion. He canceled two visits they were to have together. He would not say why. Of course, he knew it was due to his promotion and the elections in Germany. It was supposed to be a big secret but to Sherlock, his brother was sometimes transparent.

Sherlock bit his lips. It was a nervous habit. Mycroft had promised to see him today. He was late. Mycroft was never late. Sherlock remembered how he had even said please. That took a lot of his considerable pride to say the word. Sherlock did not want to be alone with his Father. He did not tell Mycroft this of course. It would have been humiliating. He was thirteen years old and not a child after all. He would come this time.

The slide cracked. He did not notice when his fingers gripped the slide so tightly that he broke it. Sherlock frowned looking down at his hand. Two fingers were painted red. He felt the warm, thick liquid as it ran down his fingers, and gathered its strength to the very tips before abandoning the fingers, and dropping on the floor. He sat there for a moment just looking at it drip. He then came to himself. He threw the sample in the special bin in his room that he was to put all the lab material in. His frown deepened. It was probably a good idea to wash and rinse his cut immediately.

He walked quickly to his attached private bathroom. He washed it and applied two plasters then returned to his bedroom. He was glad that he did not make much of a mess. He put on Bach and smiled as he thought of his mother. He missed her. He thought of calling her again but thought better. She was already grieving over grandmum's death. He would not worry her more. This would play in the background as she read to him as a child. It was strangely comforting. He hummed softly as he knelt on the floor to clean the area. He was careful not to dirty his dress trousers. His Father insisted that he dress before every dinner. He did take off his jacket and drape it across the back of the chair.

He felt a gentle hand on his head and smile. Mycroft came. He stood quickly then turned. His smile left his face, he was instantly confused. The gentle hand on his head had confused him into thinking that that hand belonged to Mycroft. The only other time his Father touched him with gentleness was when he was much younger. It was also when his mother and Mycroft was away. His gentleness quickly turned into a beating. Other than that day, his Father never touched him physically except to inflict discipline as he call it. It always amazed Sherlock how discipline meant pain.

He took a step back before thinking. He thinned his lips and forced himself to be still. What was his Father doing in his room? Did something happen to Mum and he came to tell him. Did he do something wrong. His Father, Kynaston Holmes just stood there looking at his son without saying a word.

"Sir," he finally managed to say.

Sherlock saw his jacket and quickly reached to put it on. His Father's hands reached and lay on top of his hand, stopping him.

"Just his once. Go ahead and leave your jacket off." His Father said easily as he walked around the room.

"Sir, I think that I'll get something to eat. Might I be dismissed please?" Sherlock tried to keep his tone even and the confusion out of his voice. His mind kept going back to the clock. The tick-tick sound seemed unusually loud in his ears. Mycroft. He was supposed to be there. Mycroft always came when he needed him. Why was he not there? Something was wrong. Sherlock's heart rate picked up. He heard his Father speak as if far away.

"Yes, of course," his Father said a little crisply.

Sherlock knew better than to leave without his jacket no matter what his Father said. He quickly picked it up and walked while buttoning. He felt he had to get out of the room. The tap of his dress shoes clicked quickly against the rich brown wooden floor. He ran a shaky hand through his dark curly hair in some hopes of taming it. He wanted to give his Father no reason to stop him. It was a large and spacious room and the walk seemed too long. His hand reached for the doorknob. His Father must have closed the doors. The coolness of the metal against his enclosed hands brought a sense of relief.

It was locked.

The relief left.

Sherlock was perplexed for a second then unlocked the door and again attempted to turn the knob. He felt his Father's hand on the door as he closed it quickly. He did not lock it again however.

"Sherlock, I know that I am hard on you." He put his hand on his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. He was gentle and tender. This unnerved Sherlock more, he had no frame of reference for it. "I'm proud of your marks in school. First prize." The more he praised him, the more nervous he became. He had always called him a freak because school was not a challenge for him. This always confused him because Mycroft did similarly well. Yet, his Father was proud of Mycroft's intelligence, but put off by Sherlock's intelligence. His father said he was a freak. It was illogical.

"Thank you Sir. Might I go Sir?" Sherlock realized that he was shaking now. It was embarrassing and dangerous. His Father might get angry. He glanced at the clock again. It was definitely time to go. If not, he knew what would happen. He would beat him. His Father would be careful not to hit him in the face, too obvious. He would blame any limping or twisted arms or joints on the McConnell brothers. The McConnell brothers only punched him. They had never broken his arm. That was his Father that did that.

"Yes," His Father said after a long silence. Sherlock again attempted to leave.

"Wait!"

Sherlock recognized the angry tone.

"What is your lab equipment doing in here?" Sherlock glanced back at the corner of his room strangely. His equipment took up quite a bit of space. How could his Father have only now noticed? He was cleaning up a broken slide when he came in. He did not seem upset then.

"Would you like me to move it Sir." He did not want his Father to destroy it.

He looked in his Father's eyes now. Sherlock closed his eyes.

Too late, he thought.

He turned to leave but was suddenly and violently dragged across the floor by the collar of his dress jacket. Sherlock was immediately still. Running would make it worse.

_Don't run- Don't scream- Don't hide. _

Those were the rules.

He remembered the rules.

His only thought was that he hoped that his suit would not get dirty. He threw him to the floor next to his lab equipment.

"Move it," His Father bellowed, as he grew more irrational by the minute.

Sherlock quickly got a box and with as much dignity as he could muster, he put everything that could fit in that box. He would have to make several trips. Sherlock thought it wise not to point out the fact to his Father that he was the one who told him to move his lab into his bedroom. There was no reasoning with him. He learned that long ago.

"Where are you going," His Father's voice held an amusement.

Sherlock shook now but not only from anger anymore but the ridiculousness of the situation.

"I'm not quite sure Sir." He said with equal parts anger and fear. "You're not being rational at the moment. I don't know what I did wrong."

Sherlock hated himself then. Why couldn't he be more like Mycroft? Everyone loved him. He always said the perfect thing at the perfect time. Why did a part of him always have to fight back? He watched as his Father smashed his microscope and cultures. He begged him to stop, asked him to explain what he did wrong a few times, and then his pride would not allow him to ask again. His Father never gave him mercy. His experiments and pursuit of science was the only thing that made sense in his life. It was just data.

No emotion.

No misunderstanding.

No pain.

It was the only enjoyment that made him feel normal, not a freak. It was being destroyed in front of his eyes.

He saw a crazed look in his Father's eyes. It was cold, calculating, and something new. His father **wanted **to hurt him. His Father never truly lost control. He only pretended to as an excuse to hit him. Something inside him screamed to get out. He backed slowly toward the door. He had to leave. He broke all the rules that day.

_Don't run- Don't scream- Don't hide. _

He ran for the door. He shouted at his Father to leave him alone. He would leave the manor and hide somewhere until he could somehow reach Mycroft or his Mum, if he got the chance. When his Father grabbed him he fought, and kicked, and screamed, and pleaded. He refused to before but not now. His pride and decorum did not matter.

Time skipped.

He next remembered pain and blinking looking up from the floor. He heard someone moaning. His head and back hurt. He turned his head and noticed broken pieces of his lab on the floor. He heard his Father ranting about his lab equipment, him thinking he was too smart, and being a freak. He heard his Father speaking as if underwater.

He saw a broken piece of glass on the floor next to him. The sun reflected off the glass and bounced its light to the ceiling.

It was pretty.

His Father's sentences started to make no sense. Still, a few words floated into his cocoon in the back of his young mind. Sherlock recognized that shock was setting in.

_Little shit!_

_No good!_

_Your fault!_

_Why do you always provoke me?_

_Time to make you a man!_

_Freak!_

_Bloody - Little – __**Freak!**_

In the back of his mind he felt pain. Something hurts he wasn't sure what. The next thing he remembered was being on his bed. His Father's angry face was above him. He heard someone telling his Father to stop. It was strange, the voice sounded like him but he could not be sure.

_Don't run- Don't scream- but hide_. Maybe hide, just this once. He did hide, in his mind. His Father's angry face faded as one question haunted his retreating mind.

Mycroft.

When was Mycroft going to come?


	62. Chapter 62

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 62

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. **Love to all**

**Things to know. 1. Paracetamol is a pain reliever. Tylenol.**

** *********rated M************

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in Spain.

**:( Sorry, I meant for this to be up 24 hours ago. But, I gave multiple chapters. Read one a day or all at once, the choice is yours. **

************Warning for those who are sensitive. **Read for more information. **Those who are not just skip this section and enjoy the story. ** Contain spoilers. Still there? Okay. Chapter 61 and 62contain flash backs and non-graphic abuse. If this bothers you in any way, read chapters 60 and 64 only. You will still understand the story, I promise. ***************

Make **yourself **happy either way and enjoy the story.

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**There is a destiny that makes us brothers, no one goes his way alone; all that we send into the lives of others, comes back into our own. "**_ ~ _Edwin Markham_

* * *

_**Current Day  
**_

_****__Current Time_  


Mycroft still held Sherlock's head. Sherlock had finally quieted down. Mycroft had stayed up all night and was exhausted suddenly. The memories were exhausting. John was staring out the window. Lost in his own worry about his friend.

Anthea held Mycroft's gaze. He looked into her eyes. She seemed to be willing him her strength. He understood. He nodded discreetly. He needed to close his eyes for a few minutes. Everyone was quiet now. They would be arriving soon.

"John," Mycroft said quietly.

"I'll watch him." John said with a forced smile. No one felt like really smiling. Mycroft finally allowed both his eyes to close, and the memories to come.

* * *

**Memories – Mycroft****'s Point of View.**

Sherlock was unresponsive and in his room on his bed. His eyes were open but staring and unseeing. There was broken objects in the corner of his room.

Kynaston Holmes was there on top of his son one minute and shaking his head another minute. Mr. Holmes opened his eyes blinking. When he got his bearing, he realized that the face of his elder son Mycroft was over him.

Anger burned in the younger Holmes as he stood silently and stared wordlessly at his Father. Mycroft's mouth was partially opened and eyes wide. A brief moment of shock appeared on both faces as if they both could not believe the turn of events.

Mycroft quickly wiped his face of all emotions. He stood stoically before his Father. The man that he had respected all his life. He had an inner struggle reconciling the monster that stood before him with the man he loved and idolized. Their Father and Sherlock have always had a difficult relationship but he would never… could never. He would not finish the thought.

Shock left his Father's face only the anger remained. He now realized that he was on the floor. He also realized that his suit would be stained because of an unknown liquid spilling on it when he fell on the wooden floor. Mr. Holmes got up from the floor with as much dignity as the situation allowed. He took a few seconds of making a show to brush away imaginary lint from his suit. The fact the Mycroft positioned his body physically between his younger son Sherlock and himself was not lost on him. Thinking of nothing else to say he finally spoke.

"Mycroft"

"Father," came the reply. Mycroft still did not move.

"I will forgive your little outburst. You have never disobeyed me once before. This matter is between Sherlock and me alone. I was simply teaching the boy discipline. I need you to leave. And, do close the door behind you."

"How long have you been teaching him discipline Father?"

Mycroft had acquired some power and was moving the ranks quicker than anyone in the history of the invisible governmental agency. It was even rumored that he was being groomed to one day take the top position as the head of the agency. He used his intellectual gifts to assess, get into people's minds, to manipulate people, and even to manipulate some rulers. All from the shadows.

Still, he never once used his gifts on his family members. He had never deduced any family members with the exception of his little brother. They would practice on one another. Even at Sherlock's young age of thirteen, he was far more gifted in deductions than Mycroft. This did not make Mycroft jealous in the least, but proud.

Mycroft for the first time deduced his Father.

"You been abusing him regularly. I knew of the mental, but it was physical as well. It was not the McConnell brothers that have been doing the physical abuse apart from a punch or two."

He seemed to stare right into his father. "If I did not stop you, this would have been the first time that you… disciplined him in this way then." Mycroft eyes never dropped from his Father. His eyes did become cold. Mycroft added almost to himself.

"I do believe that I owe the McConnell brothers a partial apology."

Their Father's face turned red. Mycroft was not sure if it was from embarrassment or anger. He looked at him. Both, he decided.

"Don't you dare do that thing that you and your brother do? Don't try to get into my mind. He's corrupted you. The little freak taught you how to do that- that –thing." His Father pulled himself up to his full height. Both his Mother and Father were tall but their Father easily was the tallest and strongest among them.

"He did not teach me Father, I taught him. Do try to keep up." Mycroft had never once spoken disrespectfully to his Father. Now he could not bring himself to care.

"Leave now." His Father said again as his body tensed. He invaded Mycroft's personal space.

Mycroft said nothing further. He also did not move. He glanced at Sherlock's unseeing eyes and became angry. He looked in his Father's eyes determined but said nothing.

An evil smile came on his Father's face. It seemed out of place with the loving man that he knew. Mycroft almost wanted to cringe. He wondered how many times his little brother had to endure the same evil look.

"I'm warning you BOY, Leave now." His Father hissed out the words. He wanted to insult the twenty–one year old with the use of the word, boy. Mycroft noted in the back of his mind how much like a snake his Father sounded.

The elder son did not move.

Mycroft saw stars as he blinked a few times. He would have been knocked backwards if he was not expecting the blow. He calmly took out a handkerchief from his inner suit pocket and attempted to wipe at the blood coming from his nose.

"Go ahead and strike me if it makes you feel like more of a man. I am an ADULT. Nevertheless, you will not hurt Sherlock again. He is a CHILD Father." Mycroft actually stepped closer. A moment of doubt crossed Mycroft's Father's face.

He recovered, "Do you know who I am?" Mr. Holmes asked his son.

Mycroft smile became false and dangerous, "This is the more important question Father. Do you know who I have become?"

Mycroft took out his phone and made a call.

"How's the Hamilton assignment going?" His Father looked surprised. You had to have a high-level clearance to know about Hamilton. Yet, his son knew. His son knew too much. For some reason, this made him afraid of what else he did not know about his son. The same son who at his young age outranked him in the government.

"You have a trip overseas that will have you occupied for a month. A car will meet you outside in an hour Father. I suggest that you pack quickly." Mycroft no longer looked at his Father but was busy doing things with his hands to that cordless phone.

Mr. Holmes opened his eyes wide in shock. His trip was classified. How did anyone know? Only a few key persons were supposed to know.

"Don't worry Father, I won't tell for two reasons. That is if you cooperate. You are my Father after all. However, you will never touch him in any way again. It would be a shame if the things that you've done would come to the attention of your superiors. Besides, this would break Mummy's heart." Mycroft wordlessly dismissed him.

He blinked a few time then proceeded to walk out the door. He did love his wife. He never met to hurt her. The boy just needed a little fear. To know his place in the world. That's what his Father did to him.

He looked at Sherlock for the first time in long minutes. He was bruised again but mostly on his chest and thighs. His eyes had finally closed. He only looked like he was sleeping now.

He frowned as he noticed something. Sherlock's shirt was unbuttoned. Why had he unbuttoned it?

Mr. Holmes eyes widened as horror came to him. He would not have… Sherlock was his son… He was not a monster… He was not his Father!

"Oh God," came strangled from his lips. He had to look away from his younger son quickly. His eyes met his older son. There was no compassion there only an emptiness. He looked like a child that just learned that not only was there no Santa Claus, but Santa Claus stole gifts instead of gave them.

He lowered his eyes suddenly. He walked to the doorway then stopped abruptly. "Two reasons," Mr. Holmes said quietly.

"Two reasons?" Mycroft repeated what his Father said.

"You said there were two reasons that you would not… tell. What is the second reason?" Mr. Holmes asked with his back still turned.

"Oh," Mycroft had a sound that was half laugh, half regret. "Mummy would get a gun and shoot you. It would be unpleasant if I had to go before the administrate to get her released from jail."

"She would, wouldn't she." Mr. Holmes admitted. He never looked at his sons again. He walked out the room. That was the last time that Mycroft would hear his Father's voice.

Sherlock left the hospital in three days. His shoulder was just pulled out of joint but not broken.

Four weeks later, a week following Sherlock's fourteenth birthday, a black car drove up to the mansion. It was reported that Mr. Holmes was shot during the apprehension of a common suspect. No one could understand how a common suspect could kill Mr. Holmes. He was always so quick with his gun.

Six weeks had passed and Sherlock was still having nightmares. Mycroft walked into his brother's bedroom and sat beside him in what he hoped would be an act of comfort. Embarrassed, Sherlock tried to calm himself. Mycroft knew that it was time to do what they had discussed and prepared for.

"Sherlock it's time."

"I don't want to Mycroft."

"We've already discussed this. Your mind is unique. Most people will forget over time. We will not. Do you really want to remember every detail of Father hitting you, any of it?"

Sherlock hesitated as his hands played with the corners of his blanket. "No Mycroft." Sherlock said pleadingly.

"Why don't you want to forget?" Mycroft knew the answer.

"If I forget the bad, I'll forget the good." Sherlock looked in his brother's eyes. "I'll hate you Mycroft. I will forget that you saved me. I'll think that you did not come. I'll think that you no longer care."

Sherlock half smirked. "We both know that I can hold a grudge." He put his hand on his big brother's hand. "Don't let me hate you." Sherlock locked eyes with Mycroft.

"You're being melodramatic," Mycroft lied. "It won't be that bad." It was not the first time that Mycroft lied to Sherlock. It would not be the last. He swore to do whatever was necessary to protect his little brother. Even if he had to protect him from himself.

"Don't let me push you away," Sherlock said as he stared at the ceiling.

"Close your eyes. Go into your mind. Do as I taught you. My voice will be your guide."

Nine hours later and Sherlock woke in his room alone. He only remembered that his Father was angry the day before he became injured. He probably hit him again even though he could not remember. He did however remember waiting for Mycroft to come for days and Mycroft never coming. Something in Sherlock's heart shut down then.

Four weeks after his mother buried her mother, and her son was taken out of the hospital, Mrs. Holmes buried her husband. She strangely did not ask Sherlock any questions about his bruises this time.

She returned home and deliberately spent extra time with Sherlock. But, she worried about her sons. They were always so close, but since their Father's death Sherlock seemed to despise Mycroft. She thought that it was the shock of their Father's sudden death, or a phase, but it was not.

The young Sherlock did not remember.

He did not remember that his Father tried to kill him that day. He also did not remember that his brother saved his life, but loved him enough to allow him to…

Forget.


	63. Chapter 63

**Sherlock story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 63

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**.

**Love to all**

**Things to know. 1. Paracetamol is a pain reliever. Tylenol.**

**T rated **some future chapters may be M

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. ***

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in Spain.

**:( Sorry, I meant for this to be up 24 hours ago. But, I gave multiple chapters. Read one a day or all at once, the choice is yours. **

************Warning for those who are sensitive. **Read for more information. **Those who are not just skip this section and enjoy the story. ** Contain spoilers. Still there? Okay. Chapter 61 and 62contain flash backs and non-graphic abuse. If this bothers you in any way, read chapters 60 and 64 only. You will still understand the story, I promise. ***************

Make **yourself **happy either way and enjoy the story.

Lots of Love, Zacha

* * *

"_**An enemy generally says and believes what he wishes."**_ ~ Thomas Jefferson

* * *

_**Current Day  
**_

**_Current Time_**

Peter sat and glanced at his watch. Mr. Holmes and company confirmed that they would arrive at their location in ten minutes. It was his intention to be away from the safe house before that occurred. His feet were tapping under the desk as he looked around. He put a fake smile on his face and nodded to an agent that walked by. He made a show of picking up his empty coffee cup and walking toward the kitchen.

From the kitchen, it was a small walk to the woods and a fifteen-minute walk to a dirt road that was supposed to have a car waiting. Patel would be resuming his position as the analyst in twelve minutes and from what he has noticed about the slightly anal young man, he would be on time.

He now stretched and walked to the kitchen. The security was not as high there. Peter assumed that they were on their way to the other location. He did not have much time. He walked through the kitchen. No one. He pushed open the door to the back as he attempted to casually walk away. He never got the chance as he ran into Kevin. He still looked tired.

"Hi," Patel said as he raised the cup of coffee in his hand.

"Hello," Peter said as he silently cursed the man in his mind. He was so close.

Kevin looked Peter up and down. If he wondered why he was away from his post at such a critical time, he did not say so with words.

"Well since you're up , maybe you can take over early. I won't mind leaving a little early." He spoke in a conspiratorial tone, as if they were best mates.

Patel looked at him oddly then spoke.

* * *

A man in camouflage outfit crouched in the trees. He was near a farmhouse. The spy had reported that due to deterioration in Mr. Holmes condition. They would stop at this site for six hours rest before continuing.

He stayed at a distance behind the trees as he saw a carload of people get out. One man who had his head covered with a hooded jumper seemed as if he could not walk in. He was carried in by two strong looking men with several other men and one woman following. He watched carefully and counted the men there.

He looked at his watch and made a call. "Mr. Moran, our men are close now. Do you wish for us to wait for you are to proceed."

Sebastian lay back in his Mercedes Benz and smiled. "No, proceed before their reinforcement can reach them. Kill everyone except Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. Everyone."

Sebastian hesitated. "Also, bring me Doctor Watson. I would like to have a… conversation with him."

Sebastian smiled to himself. He disconnected the mobile. It was going to be a lovely day after all. He put on his sunglasses and hummed to himself.

* * *

Peter looked at his watch angrily as he started to sweat again. It should be happening now.

All of it now.

Kevin Patel had insisted that he finish out not only his shift but also the report. He eyed the door. He had to get out. His foot tapped nervously under the desk. If he were to walk out now, no one would know what he was doing. All he had to do was avoid Patel, the annoying skinny man.

He glanced at his watch. His feet tapped faster.

* * *

Moriarty's Men slowly surrounded the farmhouse. Sebastian had given them the okay to overtake the house. The leader gave last minute instructions. First, they were to overcome the occupancies that there would be no accidental shooting of the three persons that were to be a prisoner. Afterward everyone left was to be shot in the head. A simple plan

The leader counted down into the transmitter that was attached to his headgear.

_Five._

_Four._

_Three._

_Two._

_Chaos._

A small charge, set at the door blew the lock. That same door was kicked in by the boot of a large man. There was an explosion of sound. The popping sound of gunfire and the rattle of machine guns interrupted the mornings quiet. White sparks and flashes of light lit the room violently.

A battle raged that no one seemed to be willing to lose.

* * *

A/N: Love to all.


	64. Chapter 64

**Sherlock Story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 64

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. Danishprince (I am glad that you liked the Mycroft/Sherlock bit), Esstell (There is more, promise), Prothoe (Thank for the multiple post. Thank David as well.), Kitiara88 (Thanks for your encouragement), Socalrose (Thank for the multiple post. Mycroft the hero!), gemstone1234 (Your comment made me smile.), eohippus,( Thank for the multiple post. Some of your questions will start to be answered), Anya Deanna Winchester (Sorry about the cliffy), Taylor501(Thanks for the multiple post. Your comments made me laugh, thanks), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. Brother Mycroft.), Voldemort101(I appreciate you soooo much.), Guest (I 'm glad that you like the story.;)) Puky2012 (A day late, sorry but more this weekend.), hanging in there (roller coaster rock!). ShiverandShamy (Double slap for Sebastian!), and macgyvershe(thanks for the conversation). hjohn302 (Thanks for your encouragement). All other guest thanks. **Thanks, for the conversations.**

**Thank you** ; EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix MapleleafCameo, Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hJohn302, , briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hJohn302, Pencilx , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Note: American? Not necessary to read. Only if you are interested. **Hi. I wanted to respond to something. I made a decision while writing my first chapter of the first story. I decided during my first story to limit slang, and to do whatever is necessary to make the stories I write clear. For example, I might say car boot, instead of boot and even add the word car trunk in the sentence somewhere. I might say bathroom in one sentence and loo in the other. I do this purposely knowing that even if one word is unfamiliar. If it is used differently maybe, the clue will tell the reader what it is. I started this on my first story because I received several PMs asking for the meaning of words. I suddenly realized that not everyone understands certain terms, so I try to stick to the ones that I believe are the most familiar. I use North American spelling.I use the standards that I am required to use at my place of employment. Reali**s**ed instead of reali**z**ed and col**ou**rs instead of col**o**r would be more appropriate If I was trying to be 100% authentic. I am trying to be the 99%. I hope that this does not bother too many of you. I personally do not think that it does base on what I have been reading from the majority of you. I love British culture and want to honor it, but I also want my stories to be clear.

It is important to me that everyone, including those talented persons who are reading the stories in a language that is not their primary language, understands the stories easily. I have family who have travelled and settled over the world from England to Germany, the Islands, Canada, also the states (America). I know what it is like to be the one with the accent. I know what it is like to have something said to you and you think it means one thing and it means another.( Embarrassing and that does not happen anymore.) So, trust me; I respect all cultures and I am sensitive to cultural understanding.

That is all that I will say on the subject. By the way, I am not American, sorry. However, the person that I love and will spend the rest of my life with is. Between him and my two other friends (Everyone is from somewhere different in the world,) we have our own mini united nations. :)

**Relax.**

Enjoy the story.

Peace and Love to all, Zacha. :)

**T rated some future chapters may be M**

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. * Part I The Rook.**

Note: The story starts out with Sherlock in Spain.

* * *

**_"In prosperity, our friends know us; in adversity, we know our friends."_**~John Churton Collins

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Mrs. Hudson unsteadily hung up the phone as she looked around the flat. It was finally over. They were finally coming home. She risked a small smile on her face. A chuckle escaped her as she put her hand to her mouth as though someone would hear her. For a moment, she remained seated, as she allowed the stress that she did not realize that she was carrying to roll off of her.

She prayed a brief thank you in prayer and smiled as she thought about what all needed to be done.

They would need to rest and who could relax in that flat with things thrown about? Of course, she could not let them to come home to the mess upstairs. She needed to clean their flat. Just this once, she thought. She was not their housekeeper after all. And a meal, they would need a decent meal.

What was the first thing that she needed to do, Mrs. Hudson had to ask herself.

Of course, she thought.

She got up and walked to the kitchen.

Tea!

* * *

The farmhouse was peaceful again. No one who ventured nearby could tell that fifteen minutes earlier there had been what sounded like world war three occurring.

He listened as birds sang in the close trees. He vaguely wondered what kind of birds they were.

Deceptively quiet now, he thought.

He thought that they must have kept him alive because they wanted information out of him. They killed everyone but four persons. The other three men and himself. The man's face violently pressed into the cold and solid surface of the floor. The cool tile was soothing to his bruises but irritating to his cuts. His hands felt as if they were being pulled out of its socket. He could not see behind his back, but he felt the sharp tug as rough hands pulled him off the ground. He winced as his knees made contact with the harsh and unforgiving surface. He was then dragged painfully outside.

He looked around grimly as the bodies of people that he knew lay dead all around him. They had put up a valiant fight. He turned his eyes to the left and saw his friend.

Only fifteen minutes before, he had been discharging his gun as the battle raged on. Two groups wanted Holmes. Only one could have him. He looked at the unseeing eyes of the man that had just fought beside him fifteen minutes before.

_Just fifteen minutes. _

He intently watched numbly as the red, thick liquid slowly continued to spread under his friend. If he pretended, maybe he could pretend that it was just a red pillow that cushioned his head as he slept. His open and unseeing eyes stared toward the trees. He knew his thoughts were a bit ridiculous. He allowed them to be. He closed his eyes and felt the breeze blow on him. He opened them now.

_Fifteen minutes. _

Where did they go so wrong? How did it come to this? He would not allow himself to be …questioned.

The person who cuffed him was not paying attention now. He broke the thumb of his nondominant hand and bit his lips drawing blood. If he made a small sound, no one seemed to notice. He slipped one of his hands out of the cuffs painfully. He kept his hands together behind his back and waited. The moment would come. At least he might be able to take one , two, maybe three with him.

He saw his chance as someone with a holstered gun walked by. In a moment of confusion, he pulled out the gun and shot at the man he took it from. He heard the sound of flesh being hit. He did not stop but ran for the trees. He should be able to shoot and take some of them out if he could just make it to cover.

"Stop," a voice rang out. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as his heart beat wildly against his chest. His feet pounded against the ground as he ran. He did not bother to look back when he heard similar sounds coming from behind him. He ran on.

"Parada," Another voice rang out the same message to halt, to stop this time in Spanish. He understood, the fact was he did not want or intend to stop.

The footsteps were closer now. He would not make it. He turned to try to take out at least one more man. But, as he pivoted his body to shoot, a white-hot pain shot through him and spun his body around. He looked as if he was doing some strange dark ballet. His body fell boneless to the dirt and he landed with his head looking up. His hands were spread out beside him.

_One minute._

He struggled for breath. He felt something warm dribbled out of his mouth.

He blinked.

_Two minutes_

He looked up at the clouds as a warm breeze kissed his cheek.

_Three minutes._

He blinked.

A beautiful bird flew by. However, his unseeing eyes would never glimpse it, as its wings pushed its tiny frame higher and higher in the sky. It disappeared from view into the blinding light of the sun.

* * *

Peter sat and glanced at his watch as he finished the end of his report. He had already entered the codes to turn the system back over to Kevin Patel. Peter looked at Kevin's jaw and noticed the bruise that seemed to change colors in the short time that he slept. He was curious but not enough to question him. He had to get out as quickly and as discreetly as possible.

This had taken a lot longer than he thought. As his index finger pushed firmly on the last button he sighed inwardly with relief.

"All yours," he told Kevin as he put on a forced smile.

He had to begin to move now. His luck would not hold out much longer. Kevin yawned at him, then took a sip of coffee before he said a sleepy apology.

Kevin Patel looks terrible, Peter thought to himself.

He shook his hand and said, "I'd better get on with it. I have a long drive ahead."

"Are you sure that you don't want to sleep before you go," Kevin stopped him to ask.

"No…no it's fine, but thanks." He prepared to turn. As he did so, Kevin pushed his headset to activate it. He had an incoming call.

Peter's heart started to speed up.

Yes, he said to himself, it was clearly time to go. Without another word, Peter quickly made his way to the other room, then through the kitchen. His steps quickened as the back door came within an arm's reach.

"Wilson!" Peter heard his last name called out by the lips of Kevin Patel. Peter's body stiffened. He had been found out.

"Wilson," his name was called again, "You forgot something." Kevin's voice floated to his back.

Peter started to smile a real smile of relief. He exhaled the breath that he was holding.

"What did I forget?" He asked as he turned around still smiling.

"To go to hell." Kevin Patel said casually, as he held the gun to Peter Wilson's face. Kevin had never had to hold a gun on anyone before. He had been surprised that his hands were as steady as a rock. Anger burned in his eyes. A group of agents slowly gathered around Peter, several had their guns out. Several looked as if they wanted to take him down to the interrogation room and beat him.

A few agents looked as if they wanted to put a bullet in his head.

They must have just found out about the ambush, Peter reasoned to himself.

Peter looked around with his mouth open. He closed it slowly and looked grim. He did not bother to ask why or to pretend to be innocent. That might send the few who did not wish that they could kill him over the edge.

Kevin spoke on his headset as he looked hatefully at the man before him. "Yes, Captain Magoro, we have him."

Peter frowned, and cursed under his breath as he exhaled noisily. Finally, he lowered his head.

* * *

Sherlock was startled and groggily raised his eyes to open them. He gasped at first then settled his body. Everything seemed to have a hazy edge to it. Voices seemed far away. His mind was foggy but coming back to him. He just needed to sleep. He felt his body being rocked back and forth.

Was he still on the boat?

No. Carried.

He was being carried.

He fought to open his eyes, to turn his eyes to see John, to see Mycroft but did not see them. He was not even strong enough to turn his head. They must be walking beside him just outside of his field of vision, his tired mind reasoned. Above him were the faces of some men who were carrying him. Must be Mycroft's men.

Where was Thomas, Sherlock wondered.

He received another dose of medication. As his eyes became heavier, he thought that he heard the sound of a loud engine.

Not boat.

Not train.

Aircraft. An aircraft.

This did not concern Sherlock, he was safe with John and Mycroft. Thomas was there, as well. They would take care of everything. He was safe.

Sherlock's eyes closed.

One thought ushered him into sleep.

"Safe."


	65. Chapter 65

**Sherlock Story**

**Forgotten Memories**, Chapter 65

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. **Relax.**

**T rated some future chapters may be M**

***Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. * Part I The Rook.**

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in Spain.

Enjoy the story.

Peace and Love to all, Zacha. :)

* * *

_**"Good fortune and bad are equally necessary to man, to fit him to meet the contingencies of this life."**_~French Proverb

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Men with their weapons drawn, approached a figure on the ground. It was a man who had been shot in the chest. The man in camouflage clothing lay lifeless on the ground, by the trees, on a lonely farmhouse. Captain Magoro pushed the hood of the jumper that he was wearing down. He looked over at Myers and his men as he finished his conversation with Patel. He disconnected his call.

He now walked over to Agent Myers.

Myers was looking at three prisoners that were being prepared to be taken to the safe-house. They would all be interrogated along with Peter Wilson. The spy had been caught by Kevin Patel.

Magoro laughed at the notion that the tall and lanky young man could have done such a good job. He seemed so young and inexperienced when he and Agent Thomas first met him.

First, investigating and informing every one of his suspicions. Remotely stopping the spy from taking over the computers. Remotely monitoring and intercepting as well as manipulating incoming and outgoing data. Then, staying awake another eight hours to stay one step ahead of Peter Wilson, all the while acting without suspicion. Finally, retrieving the location that they were supposed to bring Mr. Holmes to and warning those protecting Holmes of an ambush.

Magoro smiled, proud of Mr. Kevin Patel. He picked up his mobile phone and made another call.

"Thomas, it's over… The three survivors are being transported as we speak," Magoro looked at the vehicles that were leaving. Myers was giving the agents the final clearance to leave. She watched as they drove away.

Myers made a call now. She smiled as she heard his voice. "Mr. Holmes, it worked. Two men have wounds, one minor, one major. Everyone else here is fine."

He stayed at a distance behind the trees as he looked through the binoculars. He frowned as he inconspicuously went to report what he witnessed to Moran. He would not be happy.

* * *

Mycroft disconnected the phone call and sat back in his seat. His head turned toward Sherlock. Adler had insisted on being moved beside him. She lay back quietly.

At Last, Mycroft noted to himself with relief. She held Sherlock's hand quietly as she held her head back against the reclined seats and fought her own sleep. John moved between Sherlock and Adler as he prepared both for the aircraft to lift off.

Mycroft noticed John's glances. "Myers is fine." Mycroft said in John's direction as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. John gave the slightest of nods. He never said a word but he did stop glancing as he worked.

A man in a dark brown suit swiftly walked up to Mycroft as he hurriedly said, "Sir, all the preliminary flight checks are done. We are ready to take off whenever you are prepared."

Mycroft picked his mobile and called Thomas.

He noticed out of the corner of his eyes as Anthea took a seat next to him and sat down then buckled her seatbelt. She finished typing on her Smartphone and hit send. She looked mournfully at it and put it in her pocket. She tapped her nails on the arm of her plush seat. She then sighed dramatically. Mycroft noticed and smiled. She reminded him of someone who was going through a drug withdrawal.

"How does it look out there Thomas?" Mycroft asked.

"Quiet Mr. Holmes. We should still be vigilant, Sir. We are too close to leaving to put our guard down now." Thomas sounded slightly breathy. Mycroft could tell that he was climbing the steps to the aircraft. A few minutes of conversation and Thomas put his phone away. Thomas continued to talk to Mycroft as he buckled his seatbelt. John waited until the last minute as he double checked to make sure that Sherlock and Adler, the stubborn woman, was okay.

John noticed a severe look from Mycroft and nodded to him then sat close by Sherlock. He clicked his seatbelt close. He looked at Mycroft.

Mycroft understood that John was ready.

Mycroft signal for the pilot to begin the ascent. The aircraft started to roll. First, slowly then at incredibly increasing speeds.

60 Knots

85 Knots

125 Knots

155 Knots

At 155 Knots, The nose of the aircraft started to lift. Everyone in the cabin of the plane felt their body being pushed to the floor. The aircraft itself pushed against gravity as the thrust caused by the engines of the moderate sized aircraft overcame gravity. It continued its ascent higher and higher into the sky.

After the craft reached the appropriate high, the feeling went away. John's stomach felt a little woozy. Adler looked a little green as well. He unfastened his seatbelt and moved over to her.

Minutes later, Adler drifted off with her hand still in Sherlock's hand. Sherlock woke up soon after.

"Hi," John said as he moved his face directly above Sherlock.

"Jo," Sherlock tried to get out but coughed. John quickly got water and held it to his head as he assisted Sherlock's shaking hands to bring the cup to his mouth. Sherlock's eyes were already starting to roll upward into his eyelids. John knew that his friend would not stay awake long.

"John," Sherlock said with a genuine smile, he seemed overjoyed to see John. However, he quickly stopped smiling. It was almost as if he thought that he should not smile.

John frowned slightly, "You okay?" Something was odd about his behavior.

"Adequate," Sherlock said, as he seemed to study John as if he had not seen him for years.

"Sleep mate," John said in a whisper. Sherlock did not answer as his eyes closed. John was about to go back to his seat when he noticed Sherlock open his eyes into slits. The younger Holmes frowned and looked at his left hands that were clasped in Adler's right hand as she slept.

He huffed at her and gave her an annoyed and condescending look as he extracted his hand from hers. As Sherlock's eyes closed, he continued to frown. He acted as if the simple act that John had witnessed countless times between them had really put him off. Sherlock was very private with all but John, and Mycroft more and more as their relationship continued to heal, but he had become better at tolerating sentimental displays the last six months before he was taken.

John shook his head. He was not even sure he knew exactly what was bothering him. He looked at his friend. Sherlock was asleep again within seconds.

John stood there - looking, thinking, and frowning. He turned to the window.

The earth below could be easily seen due to the clear skies. Those who were awake in the cabin seemed to be looking or glancing out the window at the beautiful but distant countryside below.

Although no one said it, everyone thought the same thing, _Thank God._

* * *

"Sir, you have a call." One of the men in his car informed Moran.

Moran opened his eyes.

Sebastian sat up from his seat as he stretched his thin but muscular frame. He then turned his neck to the side. A satisfying crack was heard. Music played softly in the Mercedes Benz. That along with the rhythmic rock had lulled his tired body to sleep. He stifled a small yawn as someone turned down the music.

"Yes, " he said with the smallest of smiles. The smile left his face. He listened more as a frown now replaced the smile.

"I see," he disconnected the call before saying goodbye. "Turn around and proceed to the airport. There is nothing for us here." Sebastian hesitated and cursed as he picked up his mobile. It was answered on the second ring.

"Mr. Moriarty, there has been complications." Sebastian hesitated "Mr. Holmes… um Benedict has temporarily escaped, Sir." Sebastian listened as his frown grew. Finally, an eyebrow rose. He took the mobile from his ears.

"Turn around, airport." Moran said through gritted teeth.

"You've already said that Sir. Sir, do you want the music turned back up?" The driver asked.

Moran did not answer, but his cold severe look caused the driver to say nothing else. The man who was driving cleared his throat as he turned the car around. The driver was careful to look straight ahead at the road, and thought it best to not say another word.

* * *

He disconnected the mobile. "Idiots." He said to himself.

"Oh well." He said as he straightened his necktie.

To anyone who was looking, a stylishly dress young man stood on the steps that would lead him to exit the private aircraft. His thin beige coat covered his Westwood gray suit and light gray white shirt. He stood as he looked around. He looked up at the sky. It might rain later. He huffed and then smirked to himself.

Rain, of course it would rain.

He smiled to himself as he turned up his IPod musical device. He took out his sunglasses holding them. They would shield his eyes from the bright sun that peeked through the gray layers of cloud shining blindingly only to retreat behind another cloud.

He took a deep breath and pushed a button. His eyes closed as music flooded into his ears. It was going to be a lovely day after all. He put on his sunglasses and hummed happily to himself. He was counting on Mycroft getting his brother back to England. He laughed quietly.

He took out a chess piece and chuckled to himself. "Time to move my rook, and prepare my pawns," Moriarty said while thinking.

He took a chess piece out of his pocket. It was the king. He tossed it in the air with his left hand as he caught it with the same hand.

I love a good game, he thought as he walked down the steps of the aircraft. He easily slid into the Mercedes and disappeared down the road. He was soon lost as he blended into the busy traffic.

* * *

Part two up over the weekend or Monday multiple chapters. Note: I was referring to Rooks, Pawns, and the King as pieces of a chess game. Thanks.

Love to all Zacha :)


	66. Chapter 66

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 66

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thoughtand comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you,** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. Guest (I 'm happy that you are happy), MapleleafCameo (I am glad that it was good), gemstone1234 (Evil Moriarty ), Socalrose (Thank for the multiple post. Thank you for all your support love.), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. Keep your Sherlock radar tuned.), Taylor501(You are correct, the rules always changing), eohippus,( Thank for the multiple post. I am glad that you liked the chess reference), hjohn302 (Thanks for the multiple post. Thanks for your generous offer), Lunita28 (Thanks for the five post. I am glad that the flashbacks worked), All other guest and those who PM, thanks. **Thanks, for your comments.**

**Thank you** ; hanging in there , ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe , Puky2012, Voldemort101, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , Danishprince, EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

**Notes:** 1. Tetchy means irritable.

2. Foyer is an entrance or hallway.

sod, in this story means, you devil, or trouble maker.

4. Rubbish bin dustbin, trashcan, garbage can are all the same thing.

5. Sod off is a **extraordinarily** impolite way of saying Go Away.

5. Intravenous fluids is the process by which fluids are introduced directly into a vein by a needle.

T rated some future chapters may be M

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. * Part II The Rook.

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in England.

******* Important.** I wrote many chapters so you know what I am about to say. (Well, write.) :)

1. Read a chapter a day. Nothing on Friday this time unless I get a burst of energy.

**Or**

2. Read as much as you like at one time even though that is ambitious. I was a little nervous about two of these chapters so please let me know what you think.

**BTW,** Parade's End, with Benedict Cumberbatch is wonderful, see it if you can. BBC2. Maybe the internet, I am not sure.

To my other family.

Peace and Love to all, Zacha. :)

*** Part II The Rook.**

* * *

"_**The past is not a package one can lay away**_." ~Emily Dickinson

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He opened his eyes slowly. The blurred edges faded away progressively as his vision sharpened and images became clearer and more defined. The low buzzing sound in his ear dissipated. He remained still as his mind fog cleared and his thoughts became more organized.

He sighed; it was a long, deep, and primal sound as he stared at the ceiling. He knew that ceiling. He knew the room. He was not at 221B Baker Street as he had hoped. However, he was not in the hospital, as he had feared. He was at the Holmes family manor. He was in his childhood room. He had not been in there for years. Whenever he would stay the night, he would always choose one of the many guest bedrooms. That was not accidental. His mother always said that it was ridiculous, but Mycroft never commented when he was there.

He was a bit surprised not to see his Mum and John sitting and staring at him while he slept.

His eyes traveled around the large space. It seemed to him that the room held its own shadows and dark spaces, where old ghosts laid in wait.

He inhaled and exhaled noisily. He closed his eyes and retreated into his mind as he processed the events of the last five weeks. It seemed as if an entire life had been lived in that short space of time. With the exception of two weeks' worth of memories, he remembered everything clearly. Still, the memories were like a particularly vivid and detailed dream of someone else life.

He opened his eyes again. This time, they remained open.

He glanced at his body. He was wearing a dressing gown and pajamas that he did not recognize, designer.

"Mycroft," he scoffed with some irritation. Still, Mycroft did rescue him, as he knew he would have. Despite their differences, both brothers would die for each other. Both brothers were aware of that fact.

He would have to be courteous to him for at least a month because of it. The realization that he would have to be polite caused him more irritation.

He fidgeted in bed. Maybe, two weeks would be a sufficient display of gratitude. Two weeks, he could do two weeks.

He thought further. At the very least one week.

With that settled, he looked at his arm.

A one-liter bag of intravenous fluids hung on a pole by his bed. It filtered through a machine that did not make a sound, gratefully. He always did hate the annoying beeps of the machines in the hospital. He traced with his eyes the tubing of fluids in the bags. His eyes shifted to the fluid filled catheter line as it ended with it inserted in a vein in his left arm, where it filled and entered his body. He felt a slight prick as he tried to push his body up to lean against the headboard of his bed. He looked with disdain at the catheter needle that had been expertly taped in place to his arm.

"Dull," he said.

He turned off the machine and closed the catheter line clamps. He quickly and skillfully removed the IV catheter needle and pressed firmly to the insertion site for one minute to stop the mixture of blood and fluid from leaking back out of that punctured vein. He let the discarded catheter tubing fall to the floor. Next, he tossed the needle toward the dustbin on the floor. He almost missed the bin but the satisfying ping when the needle hit the bin's side informed him that his target had found its mark. His hands shook slightly. He pretended not to notice.

He wondered where John was. He glanced at the generous oversize windows. The sun peeked through the overcast skies. Judging by the sun placement, they would be at morning breakfast. He tested his limbs. He was sore and stiff. He had been asleep for over thirty hours. He still felt a little foggy mentally.

"Drug induced sleep so that I could heal," he clarified to himself. He slowly got up and waited for the dizziness to dissipate. He then made his way to the loo. When he left the bathroom, he calculated whether he had enough strength to walk to where he knew Mycroft would be.

Sherlock could smell it before he saw it. The table was full of various kinds of food items. The smell of meat, toast, jams, porridge, and coffee and tea filled the room and came twirling together to form a pleasing symphony of scents. Everything was warm and steam floated up and dissipated into the air.

Sherlock just stood there for a moment outside the door lost in memories. He then walked in.

His brother observed him as he walked into the room. He assessed his injuries and seemed to be cataloging his bruises. The elder Holmes looked at the movements of his little brother. They were slow and guarded but not unsteady. Sherlock knew what his brother was doing, and it annoyed him. Sherlock decided to ignore him entirely. It was early, and he was already annoyed with him. He moved to the other end of the table.

The room had a decidedly old, and heavy, solid wood dining table, which had been in the Holmes family for generations. It easily seated twenty people. Mycroft was seated fully dressed despite the early hour near the door that Sherlock entered, and yet he walked all the way to the other end after a nod to Mycroft and slowly sat down. This fact was not lost on Mycroft. He waited for his little brother to settle before commenting.

"A bit tetchy, are we?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together to keep from saying the four responses that came to mind. They were all rather good. He reminded himself that he was to be polite to Mycroft for at least one week. He thought. Perhaps four days would be sufficient gratitude.

"Of course brother dear," Sherlock said as he displayed a smile on his face. His body slowly rose. He then walked back down to the other end sitting away by only two seats. He then looked at Mycroft who nodded his approval.

"Better," Mycroft said simply as he turned the page of his paper.

"Roast meat with vegetables, and Yorkshire pudding for supper later?" Mycroft said with his head still behind the paper. John walked in still fully dressed.

Sherlock's attention was immediately drawn to John. "Whatever is prepared I am sure that it will be divine," Sherlock said as he notice the bruise to John's jaw that had already started to change colors.

"Morning," John said as he sat in between Mycroft and Sherlock. "Looks good." He added as a comment as he prepared his plate with food. It had been a week since John could eat a meal without the worry of whether Moriarty was going to poison him or not. He intended to take advantage.

He knew that Sherlock had to deduce what injuries he suffered before he would be satisfied. John pretended that he did not know what his friend was doing. John sat down and started to eat. He looked up. Mycroft noticed the look and pushed down the extra plate of toast and jam to John. John looked at Mycroft and wordlessly said thank you with a nod. Mycroft wordlessly said, you are welcome with the slightest nod. Mycroft smiled at John. Sherlock took it all in and frowned.

Mycroft smiled all the time but the smile was false, and many times meant that one should start to run, cry, confess, or a combination of the three. This was different. This was a real smile. Full of … dear God, affection. Sherlock mind started to twirl. This was all extraordinarily odd. Since when did they start to communicate wordlessly?

He heard Mycroft's voice as it floated toward him. "Um," Sherlock said. He had not been paying attention. "Eat something Sherlock." Mycroft had repeated his words before he turned the paper. He then added, as if it were an afterthought, "You're still recovering."

Sherlock knew that it was not an afterthought but was designed to further support his request, in a non-threatening way.

John wordlessly slid a glass of water to Sherlock before saying. "Coffee dehydrates you and you're already dehydrated. Since you've stubbornly disconnected and taken out your IV fluids. **Drink. The. Water. Sherlock.**" John never stopped eating.

"Just coffee," Sherlock said absently as he thought.

"How about a bowl of porridge Sherlock? That coffee has no nutritional value." John tried to offer helpfully.

"Not hungry," Sherlock said distracted.

John frowned, stopped eating, and stared at Sherlock as he sat at his side.

Sherlock without looking commented. "John, your silence is deafening." John continued to stare without saying a word.

Sherlock decided to ignore his friend as he sipped on his coffee.

Five minutes later John was still staring silently. "Did I say just coffee? What I meant to say was orange juice and a slice of toast," Sherlock looked at John who only raised one eyebrow. "Two slices of toast and bring jam." The younger Holmes corrected with a false smile.

John was apparently satisfied as he returned to his breakfast. Mycroft and John glanced at each other as Mycroft smirked as if to say to John. I knew that you would handle it.

Sherlock was growing in irritation. Everything felt wrong, out of place, odd. It was a puzzle that was just missing a few pieces to be completed, and that irritated him more and more with alarming increase.

"Morning darling." A voice called out as Adler gingerly walked into the room with her pajamas still on and hair still down. She was heading for the seat next to Sherlock.

That is when the scales tipped in favor of a Sherlock Holmes sized meltdown.


	67. Chapter 67

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 67

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you,** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**.

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in England.

******* Important.** I wrote many chapters so you know what I am about to say. (Well, write.) :)

1. Read a chapter a day. Nothing on Friday this time unless I get a burst of energy.

**Or**

2. Read as much as you like at one time even though that is ambitious. I was a little nervous about two of these chapters so please let me know what you think.

To my other family.

Peace and Love to all, Zacha. :)

*** Part II The Rook.**

* * *

_**Hear no evil, speak no evil - and you'll never be invited to a party"**_ ~Oscar Wilde quotes

* * *

Sherlock shot up from his chair much too quickly and said, "**That's it! What the bloody hell is going on!**" He hissed between gritted teeth. The sudden movement caused him to sway on his feet. Mycroft and John rapidly rose up to help, but Sherlock's voice halted them.

"**Sit!"** He blinked the dizziness away and waited for everyone to sit. Adler looked with concern at Mycroft and John who seemed to be having a wordless private conversation.

Sherlock cleared his throat to get everyone's attention and put on his best, _I am interrogating you now so, please, be afraid_, voice.

"We will start with you, Doctor Watson," Sherlock walked slowly with his hands behind his back. "You use to not want to sit in the same room with Mycroft. Now, you took the seat next to him… willingly. He smiled at you with… dare I say it? Affection." Sherlock waved his hands in the air, "And, don't try to deny it Mycroft!"

"I wasn't going to deny it." Mycroft said a little too sweetly.

"You weren't going to deny it?" He had repeated out loud, before it occurred to him what Mycroft had actually said.

"What! Why are you not denying it?" Sherlock asked temporarily thrown .

"What other complaints do you have dear brother? Is someone playing with your toy?" Mycroft asked in a condescending and bored tone.

John would normally have argued if Mycroft said something like that in his presence, but he was silent. He looked at the mask that had dropped over Mycroft's face. He had the same voice he used when getting information out of persons before they realized what he was doing. He was testing Sherlock. The fact that Sherlock did not notice the game made John's stomach go into knots. Adler had a similar look.

"He is NOT **a** toy Mycroft, much less **my** toy!" Sherlock's left hand was on his hip while his right hand was gesturing wildly.

Mycroft pointedly looked at John. John raised an eyebrow but knew what Mycroft wanted him to do. He was purposely trying to irritate his brother, and he wanted John to join. He had grown to trust Mycroft, so he took a deep breath, and spoke.

"Sherlock you don't know what you're talking about. You're still fragile; maybe you should take a nap." John waited for it."Oy," John thought.

"**TAKE A NAP**?" Sherlock growled loudly. He began to pace now. "A nap indeed! Am I a sleepy child that needs a nap? I am **not** imagining things."

"And, since we are on the subject since when do you and Mycroft communicate wordlessly?" Sherlock stopped looking at John to fix his gaze upon Mycroft.

"Jealous?" Mycroft asked sweetly as he neatly folded his paper and leaned back in his chair smirking at Sherlock.

"I am **not** jealous Mycroft. I do not get jealous. It was simply an observation!" Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he turned.

"I am in a room full of nutters, of whom madam, you are the nuttiest," Sherlock slowly walked up until he was right in front of her chair.

Adler frowned and looked at Mycroft. He gave her the most discreet nod. She understood what he wanted her to do, just not why. She looked at Sherlock as her _all business_ mask slipped into place.

"You address me as if we have some sort of relationship. Now, I understand that during our escape, I might have accidentally kissed you, but…"

"Do you accidentally kiss someone using your tongue," Irene interrupted smugly. Both Mycroft and John looked at Sherlock suddenly.

Sherlock face flushed with embarrassment. He cleared his throat. "I was drugged," he offered quietly.

She rose and got in his personal space and said smugly as she looked up at him, "You want to kiss me now don't you?" She said seductively.

"Yes." Slipped out before Sherlock realized what he said. He became angry.

"No! Of course, not, I only pursue things of the mind! The intellect. Reason. I, **Ms. Adler**, am married to my work." Sherlock's tone was superior and condescending.

"She looked up with equal conviction, "Married to your work? In that case, **Mr. Holmes**, you are an adulterer!"

He became quiet, as he looked her up and down. She knew what he was doing.

"Don't you **dare **deduce me!" She said through gritted teeth.

John frowned as he looked at Adler. He knew that like Sherlock she was a talented actor, but he thought that she was actually getting angry.

He bent down so that he was almost nose-to-nose with her and said in a low voice. "If I ever did become, shall we say, close to anyone, why you. The damaged little girl with Daddy issues. Did Daddy run off? Did he pop out for milk and never come back? Did Mummy run soon after? Who would have raised you? Aunt, Uncle? No, they didn't want you either. It was Grandmother dearest."

"Sherlock," John's said with a warning glance.

Sherlock ignored them. Mycroft looked at John and shook no with his head to indicate that John should not interfere. John folded his arms and frowned looking at his friend with anger. Sherlock looked pleased with himself as the pieces came together.

"But with your strong personality little Grandmother couldn't handle it so you ran away or…"

"She died," Adler was emotionless, as she helped him along.

"Of course," Sherlock said clasping his hands together under his chin. He was like a bloodhound that had caught the scent of prey. "What would you have done? You would need control, freedom, something that paid well, where you could manipulate, dominate, and cajole to feel powerful." Sherlock mind worked out the problem.

"Ah."

Sherlock looked her up and down. "A dominatrix," he paused, "interesting."

"You're, not just a dominatrix, you worked only for the wealthy and powerful. But this dominatrix had a dirty secret."

Sherlock circled his prey as he prepared to devour.

"They can look, but they cannot touch. You titillate them, dominate them, punish them, but they are not allowed to kiss or touch you. You don't have intercourse. What's the matter, you could never bring yourself to go all the way? You're just that same lonely little girl crying out for… what is the emotion… Oh yes… Love."

"Tell me are you still a virgin?" He whispered in her ears so that only she could hear it.

"Are you?" She whispered back. Sherlock frowned now and took a step back. She looked him up and down.

"My turn, dear." Adler said smoothly as a finger trailed his cheek. "From one damaged soul to another."

"The illustrious Sherlock Holmes, brave, intelligent, even fearless. Well, except, when it comes to his own emotions that is." She looked up with a smirk. "What are you, but a damaged, delusional, arrogant, and self-important, little boy in a man's body? If I am a lonely crying little girl, what are you but a lonely little boy in a corner who is sitting on the floor defiantly sucking his thumb? You're married to your work sounds noble but shall I tell your dirty little secret."

Irene moved slightly behind Sherlock. Sherlock turned his head to the side to see her. She continued.

"Fear. You're not afraid of bombs or guns, but you are afraid of feeling. Feeling anything. You're abrupt, and inappropriate sometimes in an attempt not to become attached, not to care. You push people away and allow no one to hurt you. John is the only one who managed to climb completely passed all the barricades in your heart. I think it is the soldier in him that made him know how to get past barricades."

"You act as if you're above us all. The poor sentimental sods who are slaves to their feelings. I don't blame you love, I used to think the same before someone showed me that I was wrong." Irene said cryptically.

"Is that why you came to me that night Mr. Holmes. Was I one of your little experiments? To conquer the virgin former-dominatrix that never had a man. Was it all just a collection of data? Was your experiment planned?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock blurted out. "It was not an experiment, and it was not planned. You know Mycroft had us on assignment in Russia…" Sherlock stopped mid-sentence.

Everyone in the room was quiet for a moment then everyone spoke at once rapidly.

"There's no permanent damage," Mycroft exhaled relieved.

"Do you remember?" Adler asked. Her anger was now forgotten.

"Sherlock?"John said.

Sherlock said nothing and did not notice Mycroft walking up. "Sherlock, is your behavior normal? You deduce everyone and thing. I need for you to deduce **yourself** now."

"Sherlock I had to allow you to become agitated, apologies. What do you remember Sherlock, what did you see?"

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Only a small memory, it was like a… picture. A clear picture. She and I were in a room near a fireplace overlooking a balcony in Russia," he thought further, "The room had French doors." He looked up at his brother. "I saw that one picture, nothing else."

Mycroft nodded. "What do you know about this woman?"

"She helped me in the mansion. But, other than seeing her at the mansion and here today, nothing." Sherlock said as he looked into Mycroft's eyes for the first time. Mycroft nodded. John alone noticed the look of sadness on Adler's face.

"What is your last memory before you were abducted?"

Sherlock did not answer, but his eyes widened.

"Mycroft, your newspaper, please," he said calmly with a soft voice. Mycroft walked near him. He slowly handed the paper over to Sherlock who looked immediately at the date.

"I see." Sherlock said in a barely audible voice. He quietly sat in the closest chair.

There was another moment of silence.

"My last memory was coming back to the flat after the Donavich case." Sherlock finally answered.

"But that was nearly **two years** ago right after you first met Moriarty at the pool, with the bomb." John said in disbelief.

All three persons looked at Sherlock. The Sherlock of five weeks ago would have had everyone rush to him now to comfort him. He would have huffed and argued, but he would have received the comfort. Even Mycroft would have at least laid a hand on his shoulder.

No one moved.

The Sherlock of two years ago would not have wanted any such displays of affection.

Nor would he have allowed himself the small comfort of accepting it or accepting them.


	68. Chapter 68

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 68

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you,** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**.

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in England.

******* Important.** I wrote many chapters so you know what I am about to say. (Well, write.) :)

1. Read a chapter a day. Nothing on Friday this time unless I get a burst of energy.

**Or**

2. Read as much as you like at one time even though that is ambitious. I was a little nervous about two of these chapters so please let me know what you think.

To my other family.

Peace and Tea, Zacha. :)

*** Part II The Rook.**

* * *

"_**The difficulties you meet will resolve themselves as you advance. Proceed, and light will dawn, and shine with increasing clearness on your path.**_" ~ Jim Rohn

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

By the smell coming from the kitchen, he could tell that, it was close to Supper. Sherlock heard voices speaking in hushed tones. He did not open his eyes but listened as he lay on the sofa. After the morning's events, he had immediately excused himself and collapsed on the sofa in the smaller sitting room. He had not left the spot since earlier in the day, but cemented himself to the soft piece of furniture and slept. He did not want to go in his bedroom unless necessary.

"What should be done now?" Sherlock heard the woman ask.

"For the sake of his mind, he is to go back to a normal schedule; as much as anyone can while Moriarty still breathes." Mycroft said before adding, "He is still at risk. We all are. I know Sherlock. It is more dangerous to keep him locked away for any length of time, he'll simply run off. He still might. Even though…," Mycroft hesitated, "I doubt that Moriarty has given up his … obsession."

"Bloody hell," John said. He already knew what Mycroft was going to say next.

"Sorry John. He'll have to stay in the flat for at least six days while I make certain arrangements. My sympathies."

"I wish that you would not talk about me as if I am not here," a baritone bored voice was heard saying.

Everyone in the room stopped talking and looked at Sherlock.

"Sorry, didn't know you were awake mate," John apologized.

"Obviously," Sherlock said with sarcasm.

"How much did you hear?" Mycroft asked.

"Enough," Sherlock sat up now wanting to ask a question. He hesitated as he looked at Irene.

Adler looked at Sherlock with sadness but then covered it with a mask of indifference. John noticed and asked. "The grounds here are beautiful. Do you want to take a short walk? If you promise not to overdo it."

Adler said nothing but smiled fondly at John. John walked over to Adler and held her hand as she rose. He took her arm as she walked out the room. Sherlock waited until they were gone.

"Will my memories of the last two years return?" He asked Mycroft.

"Yes, nothing to worry about," Mycroft said with confidence. "It might return piece- by- piece. That is preferred, or most of the memories might come back at once. If this happens, it will not be pleasant." Mycroft looked at Sherlock and sighed. "You'll have to be careful. I do not want Moriarty knowing that you are at a disadvantage."

Mycroft sighed again, more dramatically than earlier. "You must let me know when Moriarty contacts you, and he will. This might be hard for you to believe, but you do not keep things from me anymore," Mycroft smiled a real smile. "Maybe it is more accurate to say, you do not keep much from me anymore."

"You cannot do this alone. Sherlock." Mycroft said. His expression grave as if he could read his brother's mind.

"Alone is what I have," Sherlock said standing and turning to leave.

"Not any more little brother," Mycroft said quietly.

Sherlock just looked him in the eyes but did not respond to is last words. They stood there for a moment. Sherlock wanted to ask Mycroft something but was unsure if he should ask. He turned to leave and walked a few steps but stopped. Mycroft watched him but said nothing.

Sherlock stood with his back to Mycroft. "Why did you put me in my old room," Sherlock asked.

"The last time you were here, you requested it. You even have some of your things in your room for when you stay overnight."

Sherlock frowned but knew that Mycroft was not untruthful.

"When do I get to go home," he asked with his back still turned.

"Tonight." He heard Mycroft say.

Sherlock nodded without turning around. He walked away without looking again**.**

"Where's Mummy?" Sherlock asked still walking, before disappearing around a corner.

"A health spa again." Mycroft replied. Sherlock did not see his frown.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade and even Molly were there to greet him when he returned home. He pretended not to notice their worried glances and the fact that they seemed uncomfortable. They seemed not to want to say the wrong things. This fact irritated him more. To most people, the flat would have appeared the same. However, Sherlock was not most persons.

He noticed little things that seemed to be in odd places. He noticed a few more wrinkles than he remembered, on Mrs. Hudson's kind face. He noticed the two pounds that Lestrade now carried that he did not carry before. He also had a few more gray hairs. He noticed the extra crease on John's forehead when he frowned and changes in his more muscular body. He noticed the way that Molly did not shy away from eye contact with him anymore. He noticed the small pieces of furniture in different places. There were experiments that were begun that he did not remember beginning. There were also experiments that he remembered being in the middle of that were no longer there.

Every out of place detail punctuated the fact in his mind that he did not belong any longer.

Everyone sat talking, but Sherlock was still and quiet.

John had sensed his discomfort, and politely shooed everyone away.

"Sherlock you okay," John finally asked.

"Yes," Sherlock answered curtly as he walked to his room and closed the door behind him. Once in his room he walked over to his chair and sat thinking with his hands in the prayer position. He became lost in the comfort of his own mind. He would not emerge from that room for two days.

John would not stop worrying for those two days.

* * *

When Sherlock emerged, he was more like himself. He had not left the flat for two days, it would be three more days of confinement. John had to admit to himself that Sherlock was doing well for Sherlock. They resumed their familiar banter. Molly brought over body parts as Sherlock demanded. She did remind him that he asked sometimes now, not demanded. He pretended that he did not hear her comment.

"Sherlock, what do you want to eat today for supper." Sherlock heard John over his shoulder as he looked through his microscope and ignored him.

"Sherlock Holmes, don't you dare ignore me. I'm not stupid. We're in the same room, how could you possibly not hear me!" John was trying to be patient, but he had not had to deal with this version of Sherlock for nearly two years.

"Not hungry," Sherlock's voice sang. "And as for your intelligence, best not to discuss that subject, don't you think?" Sherlock changed the slide with another one. He never noticed the scowl on John's face.

Suddenly Sherlock's mobile rang. On the third ring, Sherlock said in an annoyed voice, "John, don't you hear the ringing?"

"Sherlock you're right next to it!"

"I'm busy," The Consultant Detective said calmly.

John stared for a moment. He mumbled to himself something about living with a man-child as he marched over to the mobile. He hit the connect button a little more forcefully than necessary and then put the mobile to Sherlock's ear. After a brief conversation with Molly, he hung up and headed for the door.

A ping sound alerted Sherlock to the fact that a new text was waiting. He looked at the Smartphone and exclaimed loudly, "Excellent," His fingers danced across the mobile keys as he walked toward the door. John frowned as he followed.

"Where do you think you're going?" John asked as he followed.

"Out," was the clear reply.

"No," John said as he moved in front of the door blocking his way.

Sherlock put his coat on while he ignored John's position. "I need to get out of this flat for a minute; I'm just going to get some cigarettes."

"You don't even smoke anymore," Sherlock was growing more irritated by the minute. "Fine! Patches then." He moved toward the door again.

"You don't use those anymore either," John quickly held up his hand, "But… The patches are a better alternative. I'll see if Mycroft can send a man to get it."

"I need them now," Sherlock whined.

John frowned, "Promise you'll stay if I go. No tricks, I want to hear you say the words."

Sherlock sighed, "I won't leave this building until you return, I promise nothing beyond that John Watson," Sherlock said with mild irritation.

"I'll take that," John said quickly before Sherlock could change his mind. A few minutes later, John was telling Mrs. Hudson that he was popping out for a minute.

Sherlock took off his coat and smiled to himself as he whispered to the air, "I did not promise that I would stay in the flat, however." He smirked. He first quickly searched the flat for the normal places that he would hide an emergency cigarette. He huffed loudly when he found none.

"Ah," he said out loud. "Foyer." He had hidden three cigarettes there. He opened the door and quickly ran down the stairs. John would be returning soon, and he would not be happy to find him with a cigarette in his hand.

He made a quick work of his search. All the places that he hid his, _I need a fag or I will die_, stash were empty. He had one last place to look. One cigarette should have been tape under the frame of the picture, on the wall, in a slit that he cut in the backing. He lifted the heavy frame from the wall and turned it around to look when a throat being cleared behind him caused his body to freeze.

He turned around and saw Mrs. Hudson with her arms crossed and a sour expression on her face.

His mind calculated the possibility of his deception working.

Sixty percent.

He looked at Mrs. Hudson as her eyebrows rose further.

Well, maybe forty-five percent, he thought.

He put his best smile on his face. His brain ran through his possible responses to her nonverbal accusation. He would be insulted except for the small and annoying fact that she was correct.

He could lie, distract, or simply refuse to justify what he was doing; he was a grown man after all! Sherlock looked at Mrs. Hudson increasingly angry face. Sherlock frowned.

Lie it is.

Now the plan.

_Compliment._ "Mrs. Hudson you look smashing, is that a new dress?" Remember to smile.

_Get sympathy._ "I was so bored up in my flat, John was off doing something, and I came down." Lose smile and look sad, but, not too sad. That was the partial truth after all.

_More sympathy._ "I was coming to see you. I haven't been eating or sleeping well, and I would love one of your teacakes." Technically, not a lie. Her eyebrows are raise, and she wants to smile. Rate of success has now increased to eighty-five percent.

_Elicit gratitude._ "The picture seemed as if it would come off the wall… so…I was making sure that it was secure." Sherlock said in his most innocent voice. Mrs. Hudson snorted her disbelief. She followed with a sigh then a smile. She would pretend to believe him. One hundred percent.

Ah Success!

"Come on you sod, I have those teacakes that your dreaming about."

Sherlock allowed a real smile as he followed her into her flat. He had opened her refrigerator and picked out a particularly tasty looking cake and ate it standing up. He ate another one before he realized it and sat and listened to Mrs. Hudson as she gossiped about the neighbors. She seemed to be determined to let him know the going ons for the last two years. He sighed but listened. He could probably tolerate the chatter for another fifteen minutes. By then John should be back. He was quite fond of her, she reminded him of his mother.

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said before she could start talking again. "What is my Mother's current number? I called her mobile, but it seems that her number has changed. Since, I do not have access to the last two years of my memories, I thought you would know. If not I can ask John upon his return." Sherlock took out his mobile to program the new number into his mobile phone.

He smirked, "I hate to interrupt her spa time. All that seaweed to have died for nothing." He looked at Mrs. Hudson who had been looking at the wall. His smile faded.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Well dear, I, um must have misplaced it," Mrs. Hudson suddenly would not look him in the eyes.

She quickly got up and went to turn off the burner and to get the kettle. Sherlock's strong arm clasped her arms. This physically stopped her movement.

"Mrs. Hudson," he said again. He was trying to see her eyes. She was trying not to look at him.

Sherlock gave her arms a slight shake. Mrs. Hudson started to cry. Not because the gentle movement hurt her, Sherlock would die before he hurt her. The tears were because she had finally looked into the eyes of the young man that she considered to be her own son. When she did, she knew that he knew. Sherlock just stared at her for a moment with a blank face.

"I see," He finally said.

"Sherlock dear, I…"

Sherlock cut her off abruptly, "It's alright Mrs. Hudson. Death is an unpleasant fact. It is illogical to think that she would live forever. She was ill. Although, I did believe that she was getting better," his speech faltered for a moment as he patted her comfortingly on the back.

Mrs. Hudson dried her tears. Unfortunately, new tears replace them. "It's a biological fact Mrs. Hudson. No need for such an emotional display. I'm… fine." His speech faltered for the second time. "A biological certainty," he said more quietly.

"Well, I am in the middle of an experiment, I'd better be off," he said as he gave her a quick kiss. Mrs. Hudson nodded at his fake smile. She noticed that it did not cover the pain in his eyes.

Sherlock walked quickly and ran up the stairs taking two at a time despite the protest of his healing body. He walked in the flat and shut the door that stayed open most of the time.

His hands shook slightly. He pretended not to notice.


	69. Chapter 69

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 69

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you,** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**.

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in England.

******* Important.** I wrote many chapters so you know what I am about to say. (Well, write.) :)

1. Read a chapter a day. Nothing on Friday this time unless I get a burst of energy.

**Or**

2. Read as much as you like at one time even though that is ambitious. I was a little nervous about two of these chapters so please let me know what you think.

To my other family.

Peace and Love to all, Zacha. :)

*** Part II The Rook.**

* * *

"_**Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal; it strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it.**_"~ Eliza Tabo

* * *

He stood still for a moment and looked around. He was not sure what he had been looking for. He abruptly walked up to his violin and positioned it under the chin, supported by his left shoulder. His chin held it in place; his right hand stretched and picked up the bow. He stared frowning. He could not bring himself to pull the bow across the strings.

He dropped the bow on the floor and put the violin down gently.

He looked at his experiments.

He looked away.

He worried his bottom lip and looked around. Again, he was not sure what he had been looking for. He started to pace slowly. The flat had suddenly gotten hot. He took off his dress jacket and tossed it in the direction of a chair. He did not check to see if it landed safely. He unbuttoned his dress shirt exposing his chest slightly. He never noticed as his pacing increased. He ran a shaky hand through his dark curls as he noticed suddenly that the room seemed to lack an adequate supply of air.

He abruptly noticed his cup from which he had just finished drinking tea. He had been walking toward the kitchen to pour more tea into the cup, when suddenly he stopped. He heard a crash.

He looked strangely at the wall that had small amounts of tea slowly streaking downwards. Tiny colored fragments in varied sizes were on the floor and projected itself into odd places. He looked slightly confused at his now empty hand.

He continued to look at that same hand as it came closer to his face. He felt something wet on his fingertips. He rubbed the wetness together in between his fingers and looked at it as if examining data.

He finally smirked with a mirthless chuckle, "A biological certainty indeed." He said. "Everyone leaves. They always leave." He whispered.

Where did the air go he wondered? He closed his eyes, stilled himself, and tried to remember to…

Breathe.

He ignored the sounds of John on the stairs.

His back was turned to the door as it opened. He heard John speaking to him from the other room.

"I got it Sherlock. I hope you appreciate the fact that I fought off someone for this. It was the last one."

"Thank you John," Sherlock did not notice his own voice. He still did not turn around.

John looked into the other room at Sherlock. It was dim, Sherlock had not turned on the light. Still, something was wrong. Very wrong. He dropped the package on the table, forgotten.

"Sherlock did something happen?" John tried to stop the growing feeling of apprehension that was causing his stomach to sour.

"John," Sherlock's rough sounding voice asked, "is there anything that you want to tell me. Anything, what is the word, important that I need to know. Take your time and think." Sherlock voice ended in a mocking tone. He kept his back to John.

John wet his suddenly dry lips as he tried to understand what he was supposed to say. "No Sherlock."

Sherlock scoffed, "I see," Sherlock said. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. He made a decision.

He turned around not looking at John as he walked toward his coat.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked as he followed Sherlock's movements with confusion.

Sherlock did not bother to put on his dress jacket or scarf. He picked it up as he prepared to put it on.

"Stop," John put a hand on Sherlock's coat preventing him from putting it on. Sherlock looked him in the eyes for the first time. John almost winced. He looked at John with loathing. He then smiled falsely as he let John have his coat. He walked over to the floor where his suit jacket had fallen and picked it up and put it on. He then walked toward the door again, ignoring the coat the John cradled in his arms.

"I'll be off John, I need some… cigarettes." Sherlock's voice was casual now, as if he was talking about the weather. It might have been convincing if it were not for his red-rimmed eyes. If it were anyone else, John would have said that they were crying. However, this was Sherlock Holmes. One year prior, during two weeks of torture by terrorist he did not break down once. He angered them because they could not get him to beg or break down sobbing.

He rarely did tears.

The few times that he truly broke down, he did it the British way and broke down in private. John's stomach soured a little more.

Sherlock's hand closed around the door. He turned the knob to open, but John right hand pushed so that he could not open it. Sherlock's coat lay forgotten on the cold floor.

"I'll get Mycroft's men to get you the cigarettes." John suddenly decided not to argue over cigarettes as long as Sherlock did not leave.

"I will get it myself, thank you. I have a particular brand that I like." Sherlock said sarcastically as he tried to open the door again only to have John slam it shut this time.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked with barely contained anger.

"Why are you so determined to go out when you know that that is what they are waiting for? Just give Mycroft the three more days he needs. Mycroft says…" John was becoming irritated.

"Mycroft says? Mycroft is not my boss, thank you very much! You can stop your fussing now, John."

"What is this about? What happen here?" John asked suspiciously.

"That is not relevant. We don't need to tell each other every little thing, do we. We all have secrets. The fact is that **I am bored**. Bored of this flat, bored of Mycroft's orders," he paused and looked at John. "Bored of you."

Sherlock smiled at John falsely.

"We both know that me, bored, and enclosed spaces are never a good combination. **So, move. A. Side**." Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"Sod off," John said in anger and worry.

"You first." Sherlock said with false calm.

"**Not. Leaving. This. Flat**!" John said. He took a deep breath and lowered his head before looking again at his friend.

Both men stared at each other, neither seemed to be backing down.

* * *

"_**Only your real friends tell you when your face is dirty**_."~ Sicilian Proverb

* * *

"Sherlock, is this about your childhood? Did you have another flashback?" John was searching for answers.

"Don't think too hard John, I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." Sherlock was starting not to care how cruel his words were. He had to get out of the flat before he choked to death. The air was being sucked somehow from the room. He was so close to outside and being able to breathe again if only John would get out of the bloody way.

"Why are you being such an annoying arse?" John said losing his temper again. He took several deep breaths. He lowered his head in regret as worry consumed him again. He looked up now at Sherlock.

Sherlock did not answer him. He was breathing too quickly. His eyes were on the door.

"Sherlock," John said as he went closer and put his arms around his shoulders in a not uncommon act of comfort between the two. At least it used to be.

"Get your hands off me!" Sherlock shouted as he simultaneously stepped backwards, almost stumbling. John took his hands off so quickly it under any other circumstances would have been comical.

"You mistake me for the touchy feely kind. Those imbeciles with half a brain who cannot control their emotional urges." Sherlock stepped closer to John as he backed up a few steps. "Or… was that some kind of repressed sexual urge." Sherlock looked him up and down trying purposely to intimidate him. Glad that he had a target for the pain, hurt, worries, and fear.

Emotions, damn them.

Those cursed sentiments that were supposed to be hidden away and locked in a room, in his mind palace. Now they broke free, and wandering around his mind, ran wildly. They freely stormed into his kitchen in his mind palace, overturning tables and breaking all the fine china there, and drinking all the tea.

John frowned but did not take the bait. This was something crucial. John was not going to back down. He, however, could not stop the flinch that the sting of his friend's words caused.

"Are you OK Sherlock? You seem very… Emotional." John looked at Sherlock and saw tears in his eyes that he refused to let fall. John ignored Sherlock's previous comments.

Sherlock did as he did best. He attacked the one person he knew would stand by his side. Doubt nagged at the back of his mind. Would he stand by him or leave? If John did leave, better to have him leave now than to wait for it. They always leave.

"I can understand how a small minded person such as yourself could have made the mistake of thinking that I share the same sentiments, and emotional dribble that you do. Let me assure you Doctor Watson that you were, and are in error." He gave the most condescending look that he could give. To anyone else it would have been enough to shut them up, but John only saw the pain. He knew when Sherlock was hiding something. He knew when he was attempting to deflect attention from himself to another person.

"Was that your best shot Mr. Holmes?" John said as he folded his arms, looked at Sherlock and walked closer. He had stopped before he invaded his personal space. Beneath the calm exterior, he saw it.

His eyes.

Sherlock's eyes were wide. They reminded him of a caged animal. There was a nervous energy that seemed to seep out of his pores leaving the smell of fear to permeate the room. Fear, terror, and pain. In Sherlock, fear and terror seemed like some odd combination that did not have a place of existence in nature. It left a funny, twisted feeling in John stomach.

Sherlock's respiration rose steadily. His eyes became more unfocused than before. They seemed to jump around the room.

"I need to leave," Sherlock mumbled as he looked out the window.

"Sherlock, you can't go out now, it's dangerous." John moved toward the door. Sherlock's hand began to open it again, but John slammed it shut with his right hand before Sherlock could open it completely.

"I know that you're frustrated Sherlock, but it's dangerous you can't just leave. You don't do that anymo…"

"**Get. Out. Of. My. Way. Doctor Watson**." Sherlock interrupted. The look in Sherlock eyes was that of a man about to lose control. He was tired of everyone telling him what he did not do anymore. What he does now. He felt as if he had been misplaced in some sort of alternate universe, where life had gone on even though it somehow forgot about him.

"No," John said calmly with a determined look in his eyes. "It's dangerous. This is the exact thing that Moriarty would want."

"I can make you move." Sherlock threatened as his eyes darkened. He suddenly pushed John into the door. Roughly.

"Easily," Sherlock added.

His face was almost touching John's as he looked down on him. Despite Sherlock's tall height, John had never noticed the height difference, until now that is.

John had had enough. He grabbed Sherlock and snatched his hand, twisting it behind his body. Off balanced and surprised, he was able with his other hand to swing Sherlock's body to the wall beside the door. The sound of a thud and air being exhaled from his lungs seemed to fill the space.

"Not as easy as you might think. Ex-military, remember. I have been trained in seven different ways to kill a man. Luckily, I like you. Don't let the jumpers fool you." John smiled dangerously at Sherlock.

Sherlock let out an angry growl. He did a similar movement, and John was slammed into the wall a little further down. John made no move to retaliate. He did not want things to escalate physically. He simply wanted to make a point with Sherlock.

John could see Sherlock losing the battle with his emotions. The growl and the way his lips were starting to twitch revealed his emotions. He was a kettle that was already boiling and ready to burst a whistle.

One of Sherlock's hands was on John's shirt now. However, John's hand was on Sherlock's collar, as well.

_John considered the fact that they had never once used real physical violence on each other. Well once, John corrected. Six months after faking his death, Sherlock had turned up, sitting in his chair when John came home. _

_Sherlock's first words had been, "John, I can explain…" He never got to finish that sentence. John punched him in the face. Sherlock looked remorseful and did not even attempt to get up until John calmed down and gave him permission to get off the floor. At that point, he had hugged Sherlock __so tightly,_ while crying, Sherlock had to point out the rationale need of his to breath. John did not apologize, but instead allowed Sherlock to lead him to the couch. Sherlock got John a blanket when he recognized the early signs of shock. They talked all night. Sherlock had a bruise for a week. 

John wondered how far Sherlock would go. In the end, it did not matter. If he had to hog-tie the Consultant Detective, he would. Sherlock was **NOT** leaving the flat.

Sherlock ended the minute-long standoff.

"Let me go," Sherlock said with both desperation and rage. "Let me go. Now."

"Sod off," John said with a fake smile.

"Why can't you just let me go?"

"Not going to happen, Sherlock." John said with conviction. Sherlock eyes darkened further as he pulled one fist back.

"Last warning." Sherlock informed John as his body tensed.

"You won't hurt me," John said his voice suddenly tender.

"Care to test that theory?" Sherlock smiled coldly.

"I can't let you go, just like you would not let me go. That's what friends do." John eyed Sherlock, determined.

The sound of a violent thud filled the room.


	70. Chapter 70

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 70

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**** Thank you,** **for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post**. s.

**Notes:**

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in England.

******* Important.** I wrote many chapters so you know what I am about to say. (Well, write.) :)

1. Read a chapter a day. Nothing on Friday this time unless I get a burst of energy.

**Or**

2. Read as much as you like at one time even though that is ambitious. I was a little nervous about two of these chapters so please let me know what you think.

To my other family.

Love to all.

*** Part II The Rook.**

* * *

_**"The world is round, and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning."**_~Ivy Baker Priest

* * *

Sherlock slammed his opened palm into the wall. His head and face was leaning heavily on the wall. He did not notice that he subconsciously leaned his head against John's head. Their bodies were opposite to one another. Sherlock voice was muffled by the wall.

"I don't have friends John."

"Yeah, you do. More than a few now. I'll like to include myself even though, what we have, goes beyond friendship. I've accepted that a long time ago. You're like a brother to me." John let go of his suit lapel now and put his hands on his shoulders, gently turning his face from the wall.

Sherlock's legs either gave out, or he did not have the will to stand anymore. John would never know which one it was that caused him to slide down the wall, and come to settle on the floor within seconds.

Using the same wall, John slid down next to him. He sat shoulder to shoulder with his friend. He patted his leg and sighed. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

Sherlock looked away from John. His face was heavy with emotion. "John," there was a pause. "I'm… What I mean is…"

"It's nothing," Johns said. Sherlock looked at him now as they wordlessly communicated apologies and acceptance.

"Thanks for not punching me… even though I have one coming. I'm rather glad that you don't remember that part." John said with the corner of his lip turned up into a half smile.

"You hit me John?" Sherlock opened his mouth in disbelief. The spark in his eyes revealed the slightest beginning of curiosity.

"Yes, twice now. But, one time does not count, you asked me to punch you." At Sherlock's raised eyebrow, John added with a smile, "Long story."

John added, "In my defense, Sherlock; you deserved it. Besides, I was really sorry after." John looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock raised both eyebrows in amusement before saying, "You are only partially sorry and would do it again under the same circumstances. Remember who you're talking to John."

"I am curious to know what I did, however. Let's be honest. I am quite frequently offensive. If it were socially acceptable, people would attempt to punch me all the time, but never you. If you hit me every time that I became offensive, you would probably hit me every day. You never do."

Sherlock paused briefly in all seriousness. "I want to know what sent John Watson over the edge so that I will never repeat it."

John said nothing for a minute then broke into a loud laugh. Sherlock, after deciding if he should be offended or not, turned his lips up into a smile.

"We should get off the floor," John said. "Our butts will get numb."

"It is rather undignified," Sherlock said seriously. He cleared his throat. "We both know that I have never done anything undignified."

"Sure you haven't," John said under his breath. Sherlock heard him and snorted. Within seconds, both men were laughing. They remained sitting on the floor, and talked for close to an hour. Sherlock opened up. To him, it was the first time. To John it was just one of many such moments. Sherlock, however, never told John that he knew of his mother's death.

Mrs. Hudson smiled as she tiptoed back down the stairs. The boys needed their space to talk. She heard the ruckus. She was about to enter when she realized that they had stopped fighting. She was happy that they managed to sort it all out. She felt guilty about listening but told herself that she just wanted to make sure that they were okay.

She would tell Sherlock about the delivery later. It was a solid brass chess piece with a red bow and a note attached. She looked at it again; it certainly was quite lovely. She tried to remember the name of the piece.

What was it?

A Rook.

She smiled as she remembered. It was called a Rook.

* * *

A/N : More coming. Excuse me while I go collapse in a corner. Please don't forget to comment. love to all


	71. Chapter 71

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 71

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post. Natalia (I am happy that you like Forgotten memories), Socalrose (Thank for the multiple post. Sherlock's deductions are definitely intact), cim902 (I hope that this next chapter dry your tears), Suzy (Thanks you for your kind words-big huge smile), hjohn302 (Thanks for the multiple post. The reason for the title revealed), Guest #1 (Enjoy this taste of the new chapters that you have been craving), Catie501 (Thank for the multiple post, I am proud of your will power :) , gemstone1234 (Thank for the multiple post, This is you, Lots of Love ), Voldemort101( Thanks for your support :) ), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. Courteous to Mycroft for at least a month, Sherlock would die), Guest #2 (Thanks for the multiple post. Thank for your kind work, enjoy this chapter), Esstell (two years is a long time), and eohippus,( Thank for the multiple post. If you were shocked because of the two years, you were not alone), and all other guests and those who PM, thanks. Thanks, for your comments.

Thank you ; Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there , ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe , Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , Danishprince, EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

Notes:

1. Tetchy means irritable.

2. _An hour with Jon Pertwee _is a television program. (Creative license with time)

3. The Daily Star is a daily newspaper in London.

4. Rugby is a team sport in which players run with an oval ball, pass it laterally from hand to hand, and kick it.

5. Scrap is an informal way to say a fight or quarrel.

I think I have already explained everything else. PM me if I forgot anything.

T rated some future chapters may be M

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. * **Part III The Rook.**

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in England.

**BTW**, Part 4th Parade's End, with Benedict Cumberbatch is wonderful, see it if you can. BBC2. Maybe the internet, I am not sure.

To my other family.

Peace at all cost, Zacha. :)

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I thought this might be useful.

When John first met Sherlock, he was almost robotic and somewhat cruel. Not in a purposeful way, but the way a child might do something bad because he does not understand the full impact of his actions. In this series, we see Sherlock gradually become more human with time.

Sherlock now have forgotten all the events, good and bad, that had made him more human.

At this point in the story, Sherlock has eight months of memories with John so he is not as bad as he was, but not as good as, he will become. His last memory is of a case he worked on, that occurred shortly after the **bomb at the pool scene with Moriarty**. Everything, including all memory of Irene Adler, him repairing his relationship with Mycroft, Moriarty ruining his name, him faking his suicide, and everything in the Deleted Memories story, including his two weeks of torture is forgotten.

In the story, he is almost like an emotional child who is just learning to walk, so to speak. His memories could return at any time in parts or all at once. I hope that that was helpful.

Enjoy

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"_**Remember me in the family tree My name, my days, my strife; Then I'll ride upon the wings of time And live an endless life." **_~**Linda Goetsch**

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_**Current Day  
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**_Current Time_  
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Mycroft called to say that he would be arriving shortly. _An hour with Jon Pertwee_ was on, but no one was paying attention to the telly.

John made tea as he looked at Sherlock. His fingers absently brushed off the small amounts of water that had splashed on his dark-blue jumper, and cream colored trousers when he had filled the kettle. He attempted to blinked the fatigue away. John kept throwing nervous glances at his friend. Sherlock was dressed in his black suit with matching shirt. He sat in his chair with his fingertips pressed together thinking. He had taken on an odd sort of expression when he heard that Mycroft was coming over.

Odd even for Sherlock.

John blew the cup of hot coffee in his hand as his fingers tighten reflectively around the comforting warmth. He watched distractedly as the steam produced from the hot liquid ascended, before his breath broke the swirling ribbons apart, and dissipated it into the air.

He usually had one or the other, but he would have both coffee and tea today. They had both stayed up most of the night and had only retired to bed three hours before. That is to say, John retired to bed three hours ago. He wondered if Sherlock slept at all. He sat in the same position John left him in last night. He would have said no, he had not slept, if it was not for the fact that he had on a different suit, and his hair was still damp, damped from the shower. John also noticed the faint scent of his body washed when he came close by to hand Sherlock his coffee. The coffee he has yet to take even a sip of.

John cleared his throat. "Sure you don't want any breakfast, tea and toast at least?"

There was no answer.

"Sherlock, tea and toast?" John looked concerned.

"Um," Sherlock answered without looking at John.

"Something to eat?" John tried again for the third time.

"Not hungry," came the familiar reply.

John sighed. He knew he had to pick his battles. Sherlock appeared to be feeling off balanced even before their talk. He decided not to push the point of him eating breakfast. He would just put food in front of him and push liquids. This method worked sometimes when Sherlock was distracted. He would take a bit of food and sips at intervals when John asked almost robotically without realizing what he was doing.

John finished the tea and prepared the toast with a light coating of butter. He walked over casually and put it in front of Sherlock.

"At least take a bite," John said casually. He then walked away not saying another word.

Sherlock blinked and looked at the toast with a turned up nose. He seemed to sniff it. He took a bite then a sip of tea. He then resumed his position. Fifteen minutes later, half of a toast had been eaten and one third of a cup of tea.

John looked at the plate and smiled. It was not perfect, but it was better than nothing. For a moment, a brief moment, everything seemed normal. At least, as normal as life has ever been with Sherlock.

Footsteps on the landing drew John's attention to the door. John smiled as he said hello to Mycroft. Mycroft nodded to John. They both looked at Sherlock who had not even acknowledged Mycroft's presence. Mycroft looked intently at Sherlock as he slowly went to take the chair opposite his brother. The tension was so thick in the room that it was almost touchable.

Even at their worse, Sherlock would always acknowledge his brother. He had often made him tea even though he did not make tea for anyone else. Sherlock almost seemed to be trying to ignore him entirely.

Mycroft said nothing; he only looked Sherlock up and down and waited. He did not say a word. He sat quietly with one hand fingering the umbrella that leaned on the side of his chair. His face seemed to wear his usual mask of indifference. The curious thing is that he had stopped wearing that mask in private almost a year ago.

With his head and body still, Sherlock swiftly moved his eyes only and looked at Mycroft. He just stared wordlessly at Mycroft for a moment. Mycroft frowned; Sherlock looked as if he might actually strike him. He seemed to be making up his mind. John wanted to give them privacy, but when he noticed the look in Sherlock's eyes, he hesitated to leave. John shifted from one foot to another.

Sherlock said abruptly while still looking at Mycroft. "John, do you mind. I need to have a word privately with Mycroft." No one in the room was fooled by Sherlock silky smooth voice.

John hesitated then sighed as he walked toward the stairs. He would pop out to visit Mrs. Hudson. John thought that it would be wise to stay close. John stopped at the door and turned his head frowning. "You're not going to hit him, are you?"

"That is unclear at the moment John," Sherlock said with false calm.

"It is fine John," Mycroft said never losing eye contact with Sherlock. John looked from one man to the other and frowned. He then exhaled noisily and walked out closing the door.

Sherlock looked into Mycroft's eye's searching briefly before he slowly got up from his chair, but did not move.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said coolly.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock calmly as he got up from his chair sighing. Sherlock walked up to Mycroft, invading his personal space and smiled.

* * *

A moment later, as John took a sip of tea, he heard a loud thump up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson looked at John alarmed as she attempted to rise. John's hand on her arm stopped her.

"They're just talking," John said as he attempted to smiled at Mrs. Hudson.

Mrs. Hudson frowned as she picked her teacup back up and said, "If they talk and louder, they'll put a hole in the wall."

John simply took another sip of tea.


	72. Chapter 72

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 72

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post. Don't forget to comment.**

T rated some future chapters may be M

***** Part III The Rook.*****

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"_**There is a little boy inside the man who is my brother. Oh, how I hated that little boy. And how I love him **_

_**too." ~ **__Anna Quindlan_

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Mycroft blinked a few times as he looked at his brother. He was pressed up against the wall with Sherlock's hand gripping firmly onto his shirt's collar. Mycroft looked down at Sherlock's hand then his brother's face that was only a breath away.

A moment of silence passed.

"Is there some reason for this temporary increase in your level of insanity, dear brother or is this to be a normal event." Mycroft asked calmly.

"You manipulative, arrogant, self important, conceited, egotistical, sodden twit." Sherlock hissed.

"It's like looking at a mirror is it not, brother dear." Mycroft lost his false smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Which health spa is Mummy currently residing in?" Sherlock asked with seething anger.

"Ah," Mycroft said. "It's not what you think. You have memory loss so let me explain…"

"Explain!" Sherlock growled then let go of his brother and took two steps back. "There's nothing to explain or justify your constant need to control me."

"Sherlock, if you'll hear me out…"

"What for?" Sherlock said with a voice that was immediately and falsely calm. "It's apparent what this is about, control." The softness of his brother's voice stung Mycroft more than his previously boisterous words.

Mycroft thinned his lips into a straight line but said nothing. Sherlock huffed and continued to speak.

"Control." He took a step toward his brother again but did not touch him. "Your anal retentive need to control everyone and everything around you, including yourself." Sherlock had a false smile now. "But, even you dear brother cannot control every little thing." Sherlock made a point of catching his brother's eyes. He then made a point of looking at Mycroft's ring that he still wore on his finger even after all these years. Sherlock now looked back into his brother's eyes. Mycroft was silenced. His gentle words and implications had cut Mycroft deeper than if Sherlock had hit him. Mycroft, in fact, would have preferred a physical slap to this more intimate pain. He stared at the wall next to his brother now.

"Mycroft you do not control my life. You have no right."

"**I have every right!"** Mycroft's face turned a shade of red.

His brother's voice held such venom and bitterness that Sherlock was silenced. A part of Sherlock knew that he had gone too far, and he regretted that fact. Sherlock looked into the eyes of his older brother. He now saw the rubble that his words had made out of Mycroft's soul. This, although it did not take Sherlock's anger away, did make him ashamed.

Mycroft," Sherlock started to say more gently.

"**Listen!" **His normally unflappable brother was obviously not in a mood to be trifled with. "Do I need to remind you, of who has always been left to pick up the pieces, in the wake of the path of destruction that is, Sherlock Holmes? Last time our mother became ill, and we almost lost her, what happened, Sherlock?"

There was a moment of silence.

"I did not do it Mycroft." Sherlock said suddenly quiet.

"Because John stopped you! Over four years of being drug free, and you were about to give it all up, for what? Emotions." Mycroft said the word emotions as though it was a poison. "It's a wonder that the good Doctor did not pack his bags then and there and leave!"

Sherlock flinched at the words and lowered his eyes. He was no longer able to look at his brother.

Mycroft took a deep breath and his voice volume lowered. He regained his control, however, tenuous that control might have been. "I, however, must concede the point that at least a part of you must have wanted John to stop you." Mycroft chuckled mirthlessly, "As you were kind enough to point out, even I cannot control every little thing."

Sherlock's own words came back to slap him.

Sherlock forced himself to look into his brother's eyes. "We both know that I have been clean for over five years and have not used heavily since Cambridge." Sherlock hesitated. "That is to say, the five years that I remember. I regret that because of the lost of my memory, I cannot comment on the last two years."

"You've been clean during the last two years," Mycroft admitted. "Even though you did have one danger night, you told John, and he stayed with you, it passed. There was another night of, shall we call it, concern. However, I again must acknowledge the fact that you have managed to stay clean. I understand that your past had its… difficulties, but you cannot destroy yourself. I will not** allow **you to destroy yourself. I suppose that all things considered, you have coped better than most would have. You're strong Sherlock."

Mycroft had a small smile for the first time since their talk. "I am actually quite proud of you, although if you repeat this fact, I will be forced to deny it."

"I do not intend to repeat that part of my life Mycroft," Sherlock said as he stood grimly by Mycroft.

Mycroft examined his brother. Sherlock frowned but allowed Mycroft to. Mycroft sighed.

"You do not intend to repeat that part of your life, you say." Mycroft was silent for a moment.

"Really?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow and walked around his now still brother.

"What happened between you and John then when you were trying to leave last night?" Mycroft asked quietly.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft strangely, his eyes held betrayal. "No, John never said a word, but your _little chat_ was not exactly quiet. My agent had to intercept a call electronically, that was placed to the police. A passerby thought that a murder was being committed with all the yelling that was taking place."

"You still should have told me Mycroft. No matter what, I had a right to know. I had a right." Sherlock's voice was a whisper now.

Mycroft walked close to his brother now without touching.

"Mummy is fine," Mycroft smiled.

"I… I don't understand?" Sherlock stuttered.

"Over a year ago during the worst of her illness, your sources relayed a threat to you. It was to be carried out against someone that you cared about. We both have powerful enemies, and in her weakened state, we thought it would be best to hide her away. She **almost** died so we allowed everyone to believe that she had **actually** died. During that same period of time, you had to…,"

Mycroft seemed to be searching for words. This fact was not lost on Sherlock. "… Go away suddenly. You left believing that she was dying. You did not learn that she was alive and well until a few weeks after your return."

"It was your idea Sherlock, your plan. You instructed me not to tell you about her location until you've taken care of a… _pressing matter."_ Mycroft caught his brother's eyes.

Mycroft smirked. "I never lied to you Sherlock. She actually was at a spa. However, I did lie, to her. I never told her that you were missing for five weeks. She thought that you were off on one of your undercover assignments again. I also did not tell her that you were recovering from injuries. We both know if I had, I would not have been able to keep her away from England or you. Our enemies would have been aware that she lived. She would no longer be protected, and that was rather the point."

The only thing that Sherlock focused on during Mycroft's speech about their mother was one thing, three words.

"Mummy is fine?"

"Yes, Sherlock. She is fine."

Well," Sherlock cleared his throat.

"That's…"

"Good…"

"That's… very…"

"Good."

Mycroft voice softened as he looked at his brother. "We'll discuss more later, I think that is enough for now. These emotional… things… are quite draining. I do not understand how people deal with it from day-to-day"

"Nor do I," Sherlock said as he gave a half smile, and then frowned instantly.

Sherlock cleared his throat. He stepped toward his brother again, invading his personal space. Mycroft looked at Sherlock with curiosity. Sherlock then wordlessly tried to straighten Mycroft's crooked tie and brushed his suit off. Sherlock frowned as he looked at the collar of Mycroft's designer shirt that he had torn when he grabbed then pushed him to the wall. He took his fingers and pushed the torn edges up toward Mycroft's necktie. It had stayed in place for a second or two before gravity won the battle. Both brothers watched as the shirt collar's torn edge slowly fell down again and hung apart from its seam.

Sherlock sighed then looked at Mycroft contritely.

"Mycroft… I may well have said … some things that … I mean I have said some things that upon reflection, I might have regret… I do regret. If I have caused you distress, I am …"

Mycroft partially put him out of his misery. "I know Sherlock."

Nevertheless, Mycroft did not intend to put Sherlock completely out of his misery.

Mycroft was silent for a moment. He thought then added, "However, I won't make it that easy this time, little brother."

"You probably forced yourself to adapt a temporary exhibit of angelic behavior because of your rescue."

Sherlock did not answer.

Mycroft continued. "Due to this little, shall we say, misunderstanding, I expect an extension of that good behavior."

Mycroft took a step toward his brother, ignoring Sherlock's frown. "How much time did you talk yourself into?" Sherlock fidgeted under Mycroft's scrutiny but said nothing.

"Let me guess, you started with a month then whittled your way down to a week." At the guilty look in Sherlock's eyes, Mycroft deduced the truth.

"Days?" Mycroft asked with raised eyebrows.

Sherlock was strangely silent and found the floor suddenly fascinating.

"I expect you to add another three weeks." Mycroft said firmly.

Sherlock groaned. "Mycroft, that's unreasonable!"

"You're right, four weeks are more …"

"One week," Sherlock countered quickly

"Two weeks, and not a day less." Mycroft said firmly.

"Agreed," Sherlock, said between gritted teeth.

Mycroft simply raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother. Sherlock then changed his tone to one of sugary sweetness and said, "Of course, brother dear."

"Better," Mycroft said.

Sherlock added, "Um… Sorry about your shirt."

"Don't worry Sherlock; I am getting another one tailored. You're paying for it, of course."

Sherlock simply nodded.

Half an hour later, John walked into the flat expecting the worse. Instead of seeing Mycroft with a bloodied nose as he had expected. He saw Sherlock getting tea for his brother. Even more bizarre was the fact that Mycroft's shirt collar was torn, and they were both ignoring that little detail.

Mycroft waited for Sherlock to sit and after Sherlock took a sip of tea. He heard Mycroft say.

"May I have cream brother dear?"

Sherlock stopped drinking his tea and nodded with an obviously strained smile as he reached for the cream. Mycroft interrupted as he said sweetly. "Not that cream Sherlock, I think it has turned. I need fresh cream."

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue the fact that he had just put the cream on the table ten minutes before, but stopped. He closed his mouth at the look from his brother. Sherlock simply nodded and rose to get the cream from the kitchen. Sherlock returned minutes later and poured the cream into Mycroft's tea.

Mycroft nodded his thanks. Sherlock nodded a, _you are welcome_, and then sat to take another sip of his tea.

Sherlock crossed his legs and sat back to relax. As he brought the cup to his lips, he heard.

"Brother dear, it would be so agreeable to have that newspaper over there, the Daily Star."

"You don't read the Daily Star," Sherlock said between gritted teeth.

"I do now," Mycroft said with a real smile.

Sherlock's mouth twitched as he nodded and said "Yes, brother dear."

John looked as the two brothers interacted; he was eventually able to move. He walked over to the couch and sat down. Soon after, he realized that, it would be a splendid idea to close his opened mouth.

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An hour later and after their talk, Mycroft left.

John waited until he heard the door close. John looked at Sherlock who was standing after making sure that Mycroft made it safely down the stairs, and waved goodbye.

John looked at Sherlock curiously. His mouth twisted as he thought. "You waved goodbye to your brother."

"Yes, yes I did." Sherlock said calmly.

"You got him the paper when Mycroft asked without even raising your voice," John commented quietly.

"Sherlock, why did you get the tea for your brother, and the newspaper?" John turned his upper body around while still sitting as he looked at Sherlock. "Are you feeling guilty about something?"

Sherlock put his hands on his hips. "Is it so unusual for me to be nice?"

John burst out laughing. After a moment, he wiped his tears while still laughing. Because of the annoyed look on Sherlock's face, his laughter died down as he asked.

"Oh sorry, you were serious?" John paused and thought. He now pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows as he hesitantly replied.

"Well…" John started to say looking away from Sherlock now.

"Don't answer that." Sherlock mumbled rapidly.

John raised his eyebrows as he shrugged. He then picked up his cup and resumed reading.

Life with Sherlock was certainly not boring, John thought as he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice as she came up the stairs.

"Yoo-hoo," The smaller woman's voice sang. She entered the flat as she went into the kitchen and put the kettle to boil. "I made sandwiches and soup. It is on an eat off tray. Can you carry it love, my hip is acting up."

"No problem," John said, already half way out the door. He quickly retreated down the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson dried her hand on a towel in the kitchen and walked over to Sherlock who was still standing leaning against the wall by the door. He was not talking but seemed to be taking everything in. She stood and looked at him for a moment before walking over.

"Everything alright Sherlock?"

He looked down at the older woman and smiled a small smile. "Yes, I'm fine. No need for concern." His face was serious, but his voice was soft.

Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows; this caused a small smile from the Consultant Detective. "I just have a lot to process."

Mrs. Hudson nodded "I'm just glad that you did not wallop your brother during your little scrap."

Sherlock just raised his eyebrows. Mrs. Hudson changed her words. "I meant during your talk."

Sherlock continued to look at Mrs. Hudson curiously.

"Oooow," Mrs. Hudson pulled a box from her apron pocket. It was small with an attached note. Mrs. Hudson did not mention the fact that she had already peeked. "I almost forgot," She placed the box in Sherlock's hand. "It came when you were having a scrap…" She noticed Sherlock's face. "I mean _talk _with John last night."

Mrs. Hudson's face took on a serious look. "You know Sherlock dear; you've been having a lot of _talks _since you've been home."

John came up and walked through the door just as Sherlock picked up the box, opened it, and then looked in. Sherlock frowned as his long fingers cautiously picked up the unyielding object. It was a solid brass chess piece with a red bow and a note attached.

Sherlock peripheral vision noticed John approach out of the corner of his eyes.

"What's that?" John asked simply.

Sherlock did not answer for several minutes as the room melted away and details ran back-and-forth into his mind. The unimportant details were immediately deleted. He looked at every angle of the chess piece. It was too late to call for forensic, but he knew that Scotland Yard's protocol would make them come anyway.

Sherlock briskly walked over to his desk and pulled out the drawer taking out plastic gloves and a paper opener. He then quickly and efficiently opened the envelope.

He extracted the note and carefully looked at it. The back of Sherlock's mind registered the fact that voices were talking to him. He ignored them as his full concentration was focused on the note. More information and data flowed into his mind, and was categorized. Sherlock returned the note to its envelope sleeve and frowned.

He did not notice that several more minutes had passed or that John had moved beside him or Mrs. Hudson had grown pale.

A small war battled inside of the Consultant Detective.

Who he was, did not matter. All that mattered was who he chose at that moment to become. Two opposing thoughts occurred. Two opposing statements came back to his mind.

"_Alone is what I have."_

"_Not any more little brother."_

_"I don't have friends John."_

_"Yeah, you do. More than a few now…"_

He had a choice to make, and he made it. He closed his eyes, steadied himself then opened them as he talked rapidly.

"John this is a clue, a puzzle and," Sherlock hesitated, "a warning." He looked at John for the first time. "Call Lestrade," he hesitated again then said, "and call Mycroft."

"Sherlock," John said as he came close to Sherlock and spoke quietly. "Is this Moriarty?"

"Yes, John." Sherlock answered simply.

Sherlock frowned as he glanced at the rook in his hand then he looked at John.

"What does he want? Is it a message?" John asked. He was already walking toward his mobile.

Sherlock wore a somber expression. John walked up and stood next to Sherlock now as he prepared to connect to Lestrade. Sherlock turned and looked at John now. Mrs. Hudson was standing by the door but was not trying to conceal the fact that she was listening.

"To answer your second question, the message is… game on."

Sherlock sighed.

"To answer your first question, John, what Moriarty wants is…"

"Me."

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A/N: Thank you for your responses. They warmed my heart and caused my fingers to type faster. Multiple chapters coming soon but I wanted you to have this until then.

**_Interesting note_**. In BBC's series, Mycroft is shown wearing what **looks like** a wedding ring ((?), even though we are never given the explanation for this mystery. An interview with the creators of the series uses the word vaguely, as they do with many things. Just a curious thought. Don't take it too seriously.

Peace at all cost, Zacha.


	73. Chapter 73

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 73

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Catie501 (Thank for the multiple post, Thanks for your kind words.:), sevenpercent (Thanks for your interesting comments, it was nice to "talk"), eohippus,( Thank for the multiple post. The exchange of the Holmes brothers is a favorite of mine as well), gemstone1234 (Part of the plan starts to be revealed.), idlewild1, (Thanks for the comments idlewild1 :) ) SAS ( Thanks for the comments SAS and HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AGAIN), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. More emotions, hints and memories ahead.), Socalrose (Thanks for your support and words of wisdom), hJohn302 (Thanks for your support, encouragement, and wisdom. Enjoy the story.) Voldemort101, (Thanks for your comments and for support. Sorry that you could not watch Parade's End.) And to all Guest, thank you.

Thank you ; Suzy, cim902, Esstell, (Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , Danishprince, EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

Notes:

1. Rugby is a team sport in which players run with an oval ball, move it laterally from hand to hand, and kick it.

2. "It was worth a wound… many wounds..." is found in Sherlock Holmes - The Adventure of The Three Garridebs.

T rated some future chapters may be M

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. * Part V The Rook.

Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in England.

***** **Important**. I wrote several chapters so you know what I am about to say, again.

1. Read a quote a day, ( pretend the beginning of each quote is a new chapter.)

Or

2. Read as much as you want at one time. Enjoy.

3. The last chapter (Quote) is a bit of a cliffy. Save that chapter until it is closer to the weekend, if that bothers you. Make yourself happy.

To my other family.

Peace, Coffee, and Love to all, Zacha. :)

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_**"The soul that has conceived one wickedness can nurse no good thereafter."**_ SOPHOCLES, _Philoctetes_

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He sat in a Julian Chichester seater sofa. He usually preferred pieces that were more traditional, but the modern piece of furniture he sat on was, to his surprise, his taste. He had one elbow leaning on the end table with a crystal wine glass in it. If his father were alive, a simple thing like putting his elbow on the table would have warranted a beating. That could not happen anymore, his father was dead. He should know, he killed the obnoxious bastard.

He heard the footsteps as someone approached from behind. In his line of work, he could not afford to be anything but alert. The killer walked up to him and stood just behind him. Moriarty looked at the dark red liquid. Red was his favorite color. He smiled at his private observation. He brought the wine glass up to his nose and whiffed the delicate fruity aroma. He then took a small sip and swirled the pleasant stock in his mouth before finally swallowing it. He only sipped on alcohol but never allowed himself to become drunk. That would not be wise in his line of work. He did not acknowledge the man behind him for several minutes. Sebastian waited patiently. This was Jim after all.

"Is everything in place Sebastian?" Moriarty said without turning around or raising his voice.

Sebastian thought for a moment then answered. "Of course, Sir."

Moriarty would notice his hesitation, but he could always make it appear as if he was concerned for Moriarty's safety. The truth was, Moran was concerned with what Holmes would divulge about his treatment of him. There were certain events that he would rather keep away from Moriarty's knowledge.

"Everything is in place. The kidnapping will take place exactly as you instructed. Holmes has already received your package. We were unable to obtain Holmes. He did not leave his apartment as expected." Moran finished with a frown.

"Why frown Seb," Moriarty commented without even turning around. Sebastian did not comment right away. He already knew what would happen next.

"Come Sebastian. I want to see your pretty face." Moriarty said as he took another sip of the wine. He held it in his mouth briefly before finally swallowing. Sebastian held up his chin and smoothed his jacket as he gracefully walked in front of his boss.

Moriarty face was expressionless, as he looked Sebastian in the eyes. Moriarty's body was still, but his eyes traveled over Moran's body and paused on his cheek. Moriarty face remained impassive except for the raised eyebrows.

"Had a bit of trouble?" Moriarty asked with the slightest sardonic edge to his voice. "I warned you not to get Ben upset." Moriarty circled around and whispered in Sebastian's ear. "It would seem that he is more of a man injured than you are whole." Sebastian body stiffened at Moriarty's words, but he said nothing. Moran was careful to keep his face expressionless. He, however, could not stop the slightest of twitches that came to his face before he could hide it. Moriarty noticed pleased.

Moriarty allowed the first traces of true expression to return to his face. It was amusement. "Don't worry Seb, I still think you're pretty." Moriarty's finger traced the scar a little rougher than necessary as he watched Moran's eyes carefully. Sebastian looked directly into Moriarty's eyes without flinching.

Moriarty smiled at the ex-soldier's stubbornness.

Several sets of footsteps were heard. Some footsteps were heavy and filled the room with a harsh sound. Crisp tapping sounds of high-heeled shoes were also heard as it connected with the marbled tile floor. They waited to be acknowledged.

Moriarty, now tired of the current game that he had been playing, looked at the two men and woman that approached.

"We have it Sir," The woman in the suit said.

Moriarty's smile widened.

"Leave," Moriarty said simply.

Everyone turned to leave.

Moriarty looked at the woman as he said simply, "Not you." His fingers traced the edge of her suit collar. The guards continued to retreat. The woman made a point of raising one eyebrow and then smirking at Sebastian. Moran, after a slight hesitation, followed when he realized that he was actually being dismissed. Moriarty's voice haltered his steps. Sebastian turned to look into Moriarty's eyes expectantly.

Moriarty locked eyes with Moran and said, "I want you to take care of the problem personally."

Moran hesitated again.

"You're dismissed Mr. Moran." Moriarty said somewhat coldly.

"Yes, Sir," Moran said with as bored a voice as he could manage. He then briskly walked out the room. The last thing that Sebastian noticed as he closed the door was Moriarty's eyes locked with his. Moriarty made a point of kissing the woman deeply as she kissed back passionately. Jim locked eyes with Moran. Moriarty was trying to make a point. He dismissed Moran as he would dismiss any of his other staff because he was not pleased, and would soon lose patience with Moran. Sebastian noticed that Moriarty's eyes looked as cold as his voice sounded.

The only time that Moriarty's eyes lit up was when he saw or talked about Holmes. _This_ _realization made Moran hate the Consultant Detective more._

* * *

_**"Boredom is the deadliest poison**__."_ William F. Buckley, JR., Milestones

* * *

Sherlock was bored, God help him. This was not a question but a very clear fact. John scratched his arm before he could stop himself.

"Two more days, two more days, two more bloody days." John muttered irritated as he walked briskly from his room. He did not bother to dry his hair. His feet struck the wooden stairs as he jogged down. It was as if he could punish the stairs and transfer some of the anger he felt toward Sherlock to the inanimate object.

As he came into the room, he was not surprised to find that Sherlock was not in his sleeping trousers and dressing gown, but fully dressed in a suit despite the early hour.

"Good! you're up, I was bored John," Sherlock responded as he practically jumped away from his tea causing the warm liquid to spill slightly on the table. His long legs made a quick work of reaching John. John did not notice that he had a swab in his hand. He tugged at the Doctor's left arm and swabbed the area.

"**Ow!**" John screeched in a high-pitched voice as he pulled back too late, but the deed had been done. This did not improve John's mood.

"Sherlock, I know what you did last night," John was irritated and started to gesture with his right arm in between scratches.

"And that would be?" Sherlock asked evenly as he prepared to cultivate a culture and pulled out the appropriate items.

"You experimented on me while I was sleeping. My bloody left arm is bloody itchy!"

"Don't worry John. I collected most of my tissue samples while you were sleeping. You can wash your arm off now," Sherlock abandoned the tea completely and took a sip of coffee that was by his lab equipment.

"I DID wash my arm. It's still itchy." John said with growing anger.

"You know you should have asked. You could have ruined my experiment if I was not prepared." Sherlock went about the task of preparing a slide for his microscope.

"It itches," John's voice took on a whinny tone now.

"Good. Marvelous. Be quiet." Sherlock said distractedly in a quiet voice before adding. "**Really John,** you were a soldier, what's a little itch in the pursuit of science?"

John scratched with more vigor.

"You're not to do that again Sherlock. There are rules in society. There are boundaries." John paused angrily and put his hands on his hips. Right after giving one last good long scratch.

"**SHERLOCK ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING**?"

"Yes, yes John. Again, do Shut Up**."** Sherlock was surfing the internet on his mobile Smartphone now. "No need for concern John. What I rubbed on you is fairly harmless."

"Do you think that I'm an Idiot?" John immediately regretted the words that came out of his mouth.

"Of course not John," Sherlock paused thoughtfully.

"Well not in the traditional sense of the word." Sherlock opened another web browser while he spoke.

"I stop thinking that you were an idiot after the first day I met you. In fact, you're quite intelligent." He found what he looked for on the internet and with a graceful stretch, put the mobile down on a small unoccupied space on the table. Sherlock moved back to the microscope now.

John pinched his lips together and waited for it.

"Not as intelligent as me of course, but then remarkably few people are. Don't take it to heart, I'm unique."

"And, there it is." John muttered to himself.

"I'm glad that for the common masses, my head is slightly above water." John said sarcastically. Sherlock did not notice John's folded arms or glare.

"Oh course John," Sherlock waved his arm around magnanimously. "Of course."

John scratched his face absently.

"By the way John, I would keep the hands away from the face if I were you." Sherlock said offhandedly without even looking up.

John's hands froze mid scratch as he looked at his hand and lowered it. His eyes first widened then narrowed as he glared at Sherlock. Sherlock did not notice.

"I'm going to have to train him all over again." John muttered quietly as he suddenly turned then walked off to take another shower.

"Sorry John, What did you say?" Sherlock asked as half his head poked from behind the microscope.

John did not answer. Sherlock did not understand why John slammed his door a little too enthusiastically.


	74. Chapter 74

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 74

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and for following.

***** Important. I wrote several chapters condensed on four pages, so you know what I am about to say, again.

1. Read a quote a day. (Each quote represents a chapter. Some are long , some are short.)

Or

2. Read as much as you want at one time. Enjoy.

3. The last quote is a bit of a cliffy. Save that chapter until it is closer to the weekend, if that bothers you. Make yourself happy.

To my other family.

Peace, Coffee, and Love to all, Zacha. :)

* * *

"_**Real life seems to have no plots."**_ ~ _Ivy Compton-Burnett_

* * *

It was later in the day. Lestrade had just left after sending a sympathetic look John's way. The DI had stayed over an hour in the flat. Earlier, Lestrade received a call from John that requested that he bring over some cases for Sherlock before he, _strangled the man to death with his bare hands_.

Lestrade made the drive in thirty minutes during heavy traffic. John did not ask how he did it, he was simply grateful.

John finally allowed himself to take a breath. He closed his eyes as he sipped the tea that was slightly too hot. He sighed with relief as he opened his eyes again. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile as he looked at a more calmly engaged Sherlock. The man now sat in the corner happily. He had cases. He had two nicotine patches on. John had negotiated him down from three. Sherlock was finally composed. The Doctor was not happy about the nicotine patches but it was better than a Sherlock that was bored to tears. Sherlock searched the internet and went back and forth on his mobile with Molly Hooper.

John shook his head unnoticed. It had been an interesting day. The younger Holmes had been obnoxious, irritating, impatient, intolerant, exasperating, insufferable, and at times unbearable. In a few words, the man had been a pure terror.

John took another sip and exhaled all the tension.

The man was also, brilliant, loyal, trustworthy, amusing, and exciting. He had the mind of a genius yet the heart of a child. In many ways, he was strangely innocent. His friend's presence filled any room he walked into. He was also, healthy, away from Moriarty, Moran and all things unpleasant. He was there.

He was alive.

John told himself that it was the dust that was in the room that he was blinking out of his eyes. John took another sip then cleared his throat.

John looked at Sherlock, suddenly and strangely emotional. He was the best friend that he ever had. He was Sherlock Holmes. His Sherlock, his brother in heart. And, he was getting more like himself every day, the pompous sod.

Thank God.

John could not help the chuckle that escaped.

Sherlock paused what he was doing and looked at John questioningly. John only smiled a toothy grin at Sherlock and took another sip.

Sherlock gave John his most indulgent smile that said, _'I have no idea why John just smiled at me so just smile back.'_

John, knowing what Sherlock was thinking, burst out laughing now.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he studied John silently for a few minutes. He returned to his cases when he was convinced that John was not having a mental breakdown.

John continued to enjoy his tea.

Several minutes passed in quiet.

Suddenly Sherlock clapped his hands together and shouted out, "Ohhh… Of course… Obvious!"

"It was the soccer Mom." He announced dramatically. "She was transporting more than soccer equipment in that sedan John," Sherlock smirked as he stood up excitedly and called Lestrade on his mobile.

"That is… Brilliant Sherlock," John smiled sincerely.

"Just making deductions John," Sherlock said. John noticed that Sherlock tried to hide a smile. John's praises always produced similar reactions.

"Two so far John, three to go." Sherlock announced needlessly.

John considered the fact that he might need to ask Lestrade to bring over more cases by the morning.

Half an hour later, John rose from his chair when he heard footsteps. He went to the table to get his gun as Sherlock stood when he noticed John's body language.

"Mycroft?" John asked quietly. "He is the only one who can get in here without a key."

"The foot steps are too heavy, Mycroft moves like a cat. Besides it is three persons." Sherlock said softly as he came beside John.

"Where's Mrs. Hudson?" John started to ask.

Sherlock put a hand on John's hand. His face was suddenly relaxed again. The two wordlessly communicated to one another. John nodded. He exhaled a breath that he did not realize that he was holding as he put the gun away.

"Ms. Adler," Sherlock said as the door opened slowly. Two of Mycroft's men were standing down the stairs by the door. They did not seem as if they intended to come up.

Irene looked Sherlock up and down.

"Mr. Holmes." She moved gracefully into the room.

John noticed that her curly hair was down, falling softly past her shoulders. She wore her structured gray sleeveless dress and ridiculously high-heeled shoes that matched in color. She did not try to hide the fact that she had looked at Sherlock, she knew that it was pointless, he would know. She frowned as she stopped at the fading bruise on his face. Her fingers started toward his face and stopped. She lowered her hand.

Sherlock looked her over as well; a flash of a frown had come across his face before it was covered with a neutral, yet slightly bored expression. He also noticed how she still guarded the side of her abdomen. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes that she tried unsuccessfully to cover. Despite this, she was still beautiful. He resisted the urge to frown as he wondered where such a sentimental idiotic idea came from. He returned the thought to wherever it came. Still, they were both very much improved.

They just remained staring at one another.

John looked from one to another then he walked up to Adler and kissed her on a cheek. Adler face melted as she smiled at John. She considered the fact that two years ago, she and John did not particularly care for one another. Now, she was quite fond of the Doctor. She also realized that he was fond of her.

"Irene, take a seat. You know that you should not be wearing those heels yet, you're still recovering." John scolded.

"You're right of course but what's the fun in that." Irene winked at John.

The corners of John's mouth turned up into a smile despite himself. John took Irene by the hand and led her to the closest chair. She had caught his attention before she sat.

"I won't stay long, I just wanted to say goodbye." Irene glance at Sherlock who stood by and watched the two interact.

"You can't be serious Irene, it's dangerous. You know that you're a target. Nothing could possibly be that important." John was worried and not trying to hide it.

"There is something that I have to take care of John." Irene worried her redden lips as she looked at John. She opened her mouth and glanced at Sherlock then back to John. She closed them again.

Mycroft chose that moment to enter. "Sorry, Korea," was his only explanation. He stopped typing on his mobile and looked at the faces of everyone in the room.

"Missed something, did I." It was not a question.

John walked over to Sherlock. Sherlock had turned toward the window and was looking out. Both hands were in his suit pocket. John felt that it was useless, but he had to try. "Sherlock, you have to say something. You have to…" John whispered rant was cut short. To his surprise, Sherlock was already moving toward Adler.

"Ms. Adler. It would be wise to listen to what Doctor Watson has said. You are in very real danger." Sherlock looked down at the smaller woman. He did not notice that he had moved within her personal space.

"I can take care of myself, Mr. Holmes," Adler said defiantly crossing her arms.

Sherlock looked at her curiously, A ghost of a smile flashed across his face. "I am sure that you can." Adler stopped looking at him and looked straight ahead at his chest thinking. A stray hair fell into her face. Sherlock's long fingers, without thinking, brushed Adler's stray hair away and tucked it behind her ear.

Sherlock frowned and looked at his hand as if it had betrayed and offended him. He took a step back.

Adler looked at him curiously, "Careful Mr. Holmes, I might get the wrong impression and think that you care." Her voice broke a little at the familiar words.

Adler did not wait for him to respond. She held out her hand. "Well, take care of yourself Mr. Holmes." She smiled.

Sherlock took her hand and shook it. "You won't change your mind." It was a statement. Sherlock did not notice that he did not let go of her hand. Adler looked back up in his eyes and smiled. He then witnessed her mask fall and all emotion was wiped from her face.

She then squeezed the younger Holmes hand and let go.

"Promise me that you'll think about it." John spoke quietly as she approached the door.

She did not answer but looked at John fondly, "Be careful and take care of him," Adler spoke so quietly that only John heard. Adler looked from Sherlock back to John, "And take care of yourself." Irene was gone almost instantly. Everyone listened to the soft tap of her shoes as it decreased in volume and then disappeared entirely.

John stood still with his arms folded looking at the door.

Mycroft stayed in the corner, looking as the scene unfolded.

Sherlock abruptly moved toward Mycroft. He invaded his older brother's personal space and locked eyes with him. Mycroft frowned as he looked back at Sherlock. They communicated back and forth wordlessly.

"I suppose that I could try to convince Ms. Adler to stay at the manor." Mycroft offered slowly.

Sherlock continued to stare at Mycroft.

"…And…, if that does not work." Mycroft looked at Sherlock, "I suppose I could appoint two agents to observe and protect her for your…" Sherlock frowned.

"…I mean for my information and peace of mind." Mycroft looked at his brother again, thought, and added.

"Of course, as part of the investigation, it would be required to burden you with this information I am afraid." Mycroft raised his eyebrows and looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. "A respectable and sound plan, full of reasonable precautions." Sherlock suddenly walked and sat in his chair.

Sherlock noticed John's smile out of the corner of his eyes. It was annoying. Sherlock pretended not to notice.

Mycroft walked up to the chair next to Sherlock. He swung his umbrella back and forth, as he thought. Finally, he took a seat opposite his brother.

They were both silent for a moment.

"You do realize that this is Adler," he frowned, "maybe you don't." Mycroft started again. "With you as the exception. I have never seen anyone with such a talent for… disappearing."

Mycroft sighed. "If she does not want to be found it will be difficult and take time. Time may not be something that we have."

"I know Mycroft." Sherlock looked at Mycroft now.

Mycroft changed the subject. "What did the note say? It was more than a chess piece in that box." Mycroft looked gravely at his brother.

Sherlock half smiled at Mycroft. He was clever on his worse day.

"What it said brother was, '_It was worth a wound – many wounds_.' It said nothing more." Sherlock's fingers were placed tip-to-tip now, in the prayer position thinking.

"Any ideas about what it means?" Mycroft asked.

"Several ideas, but don't worry Mycroft, all my theories will be proven or disproven very soon."

Mycroft's mask fell as he frowned. He looked at Sherlock. Both brothers then retreated into their minds as they tried to work out how to defeat the most brilliant criminal mind that the world has ever known.


	75. Chapter 75

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 75

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and for following.

***** Important. I wrote several chapters condensed on four pages, so you know what I am about to say, again.

1. Read a quote a day. (Each quote represents a chapter. Some are long , some are short.)

Or

2. Read as much as you want at one time. Enjoy.

3. The last quote is a bit of a cliffy. Save that chapter until it is closer to the weekend, if that bothers you. Make yourself happy.

To my other family.

Peace, Coffee, and Love to all, Zacha. :)

* * *

_**"Evil events from evil causes spring**_." Aristophanes

* * *

Sebastian looked at the woman as she walked. She was alone. She was moving slowly and as if distracted. It was almost too easy. He looked around. It was dark; if they acted quickly, no one would notice. He nodded to the men beside him.

"Don't harm her. Moriarty wants her well and fairly intact. Of course, if she should… struggle, we would have no choice but to, detain her. A few bruises would not actually be considered harming permanently, would it?" Moran smiled.

The men knew what that meant. Mr. Moran wanted an excuse to hurt the woman.

He resisted a chuckle. He suspected how much the woman meant to the man. Moriarty's first goal was to hurt him creatively. What better way than to hurt her. Moriarty was a genius.

* * *

_**"A man cannot free himself from the past more easily than he can from his own body." ~**_André Maurois

* * *

The next day came much too slowly for the bored detective. He stepped into the shower pulling the shower curtain closed behind him. He sighed frowning as he automatically turned up the water temperature until steam filled the small space and rolled in waves across the ceiling. He stretched his long fingers toward the shelf by the window. The instant pop sound of the body wash cap opening seemed amplified in the small space.

Sherlock stared straight ahead at nothing. The thick liquid slowly pooled in his left hand. The young man returned the body wash to rest on the window ledge. His hands automatically rubbed the cooled liquid in the palm of his hands. He then mechanically ran his hands over his skin and hair, wincing slightly when his fingers came in contact with his still tender and bruised patches of skin. He closed his eyes as he stepped under the water. The subtle fragrance filled the room. The soapy mixture raced downward, aided by the streaming water, and splashed on the shower tile and flooring. He ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair, pushing the last of the lathered water backwards.

As he stood under the warmth of the water, his mind processed data, assessed potential threats, and drew unpleasant conclusions. Adler flashed before his mind. He frowned and pushed all thoughts of the woman away - again. Moriarty. Think of Moriarty.

Moriarty would make his move soon. From what he had come to believe, it would affect one of three persons in some way, Lestrade, John, or Mycroft. He quickly dismissed Mycroft. He told himself that he was too difficult a target and that he would choose one of the other two. Moriarty, however, seemed to take enormous pleasure in doing the unexpected. He once thought this fascinating but not anymore. The thought of Mycroft injured or worse caused a strange, twisted feeling on the inside of Sherlock stomach. Sherlock evened his breathing out and dismissed the reaction. Mycroft was untouchable. That is what he repeated to himself silently.

It was John or Lestrade. He frowned. Would he attack them directly? That was too boring, and Moriarty if nothing else was creative. Sherlock felt as if he was missing something, a piece of some puzzle that would make the picture immediately clear. Whatever it was, it was something unexpected. He became lost in thought as time lost its meaning. Sherlock blinked and frowned as the chill on his skin informed him that something had changed. The water was cool now. How long had he been thinking, Sherlock wondered.

He exhaled noisily as he reached for the knob and turned. The stream of water abruptly stopped. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it hastily round his lower body, holding it in place with one hand. His damp feet walked on the slightly cooled wood. His skin chilled slightly as he left the warmth of the bathroom and distractedly made his way to his bedroom. It had been quiet and frustratingly boring for the past two days. He knew that the quiet would not last.

Sherlock thought of how Mrs. Hudson had stormed into their flat earlier and waved the bag of ears at Sherlock as he was walking to the shower. She was still dressed in her dressing gown with hair curlers. Mrs. Hudson was infuriated that he had used her refrigerator for his experiments. He had calmly explained that he ran out of space in his. After a stern lecture, she marched out of the flat with a murderous look on her face.

He smiled at the memory; his mood suddenly became lighter despite the situation.

"Dear Mrs. Hudson." He whispered as he approached his bedroom door and put his hand on the door.

He paused for a second to feel the dark, smooth wood as his mind returned to his previous thoughts. His smile faded. He forced all unpleasant thoughts to somewhere deep in his mind. He wiped his face of all emotions and prepared for his day and creative ways not to be bored. A delightful mystery is what he needed, as long as it did not involve Moriarty.

"One more day of prison." Sherlock muttered absently as he pushed the door to his bedroom close.

He walked further into his bedroom. He paused as he walked past the full-length mirror. He slowly dropped his towel and stood there undressed.

It was strange looking at himself. His face looked almost the same, but his body was different. He had lean muscle now, he used to be exceedingly thin. He winced as he looked at the scattered bruises on his chest, abdomen and thighs, which were different colors to indicate the different stages of healing. His eyes now lowered to the still fading tiny discoloration to one thigh from a bullet wound. It did not appear as if it would produce a scar. He ignored it as well as the other bruises.

His hair was the same but cut a little shorter as John had said he wore it now. There was no vanity to his examination. It was only curiosity of the puzzle that he felt he had to solve. He liked puzzles, and mysteries; it drove him. He, however, never thought his life would be one.

He turned his back. This was supposed to be his body now. His life now. Why did he feel odd in it? Something caught his attention. When he turned, he felt the slightest tightness under his skin, on his lower back. Almost as if, the skin was… scarred. He turned and contorted his body. He could not see any scars.

Sherlock thought for a moment. He walked over to the bedside table pulling the wooden table open so fast it shook. He found a writing pen and broke it open. He rubbed, and coated his fingertips with the blue ink and rubbed it onto his lower back. The once scarred skin absorbed the ink less than the rest of his skin. A long faded blue mark appeared in the middle of his lower back with the darker ink surrounding it.

Sherlock thought then frowned. He looked at the ink and raised his eyebrows. He soon was rubbing more between his fingers.

Minutes later, he had three streaks of light blue surrounded by darker blue on his body. One was on the side of his chest, one on the side of his lower abdomen and the last long line on his back right above his buttock.

He stood looking in the mirror but no longer seeing himself. He was in his mind trying to work out the puzzle.

He had the scars removed.

Why?

It was not like him to be vain. If it was for vanity, why was there still a tiny faded scar on his ankle? It was from the first time that Mycroft attempted to teach him how to ride a bicycle. He smiled at the memory of how pathetic Mycroft had felt.

Mycroft.

His last memories of Mycroft involved, yelling, on his part. Mycroft being perfectly and irritatingly calm.

When he thought of Mycroft, care and contempt wrestled equally in his mind, with contempt tipping the scales. He cared for Mycroft but found the man irritating, controlling, and overbearing.

John explained how they had grown close again over the course of over a year now. The thought of Mycroft not being his archenemy seemed strange. Mycroft actually looked at him, dare he think such a ridiculous thought, fondly.

Sherlock almost cringed.

The one consistent thing that he remembered was trusting John. In fact, John was the only one that he trusted utterly. If John said it was so, it was so.

He blinked a few times looking again at himself. If three of the four scars on his body was removed by laser or, however, it was done, he suspected by laser. Whoever removed them did an exceptional job. Maybe cutting edge techniques. That meant money. Sherlock never touched the money his father left him. He considered it tainted. There were a little over a million and a quarter pounds in the bank for years. Probably more now, not including properties. Not one pound was ever used. Where did the money come from then?

Mycroft.

Mycroft was involved.

The scars represented something then, but what?

What?

If he agreed or even asked for the scars to be removed, that indicated that he did not want to see them or have the scars trigger some memory.

A part of him reminded himself that if that was the case, maybe, it was better to _let sleeping dogs __lie__._ He looked at the streaks of blue on his body and the blue smudges on his face and fingertips.

There was a moment as he wrestled with himself. In the end, his curious nature won. He looked at the towel that he had dropped on the floor and wrapped it around himself again.

It was time for another shower.

* * *

_**"Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim.**_" ~ Robert Frost

* * *

How did it come down to this, she wondered. It was supposed to be a slow and uneventful evening. It happened so quickly. Too quickly. One minute she was walking from Tescos to her temporary home. It was a small flat that they had found for her to stay in. It was not her taste, but she was determined to tolerate it until she could make a more permanent arrangement.

That is when it happened.

She had been unfocused, with her arms full of overflowing bags of groceries, and a bottle of superb wine. All the while, she also managed to balance a shoulder bag that was determined to slip off her shoulder. Her mind was preoccupied. The person that she loved the most on this earth had, in no uncertain terms, let her know that her feelings were no longer reciprocated. In retrospect, she was an easy target. She blamed herself for this fact. She should have been paying attention. She did not even see the knife until the cold metal was pressed firmly into her neck.

"Stupid, so very, dreadfully stupid." She realized too late that she had spoken out loud to herself.

"Don't be hard on yourself love," the well-dressed man said as if reading her mind. "We all get distracted every now and then."

She had given no reply as she watched him warily with hate, loathing, and if she was honest, fear. She followed his movements as he came closer and closer with a slow and almost catlike gait. She involuntarily recoiled when she realized that his eyes almost seemed to glow in the darkness. She was not aware of where the unexpected shudder came from. Was it the cold of the warehouse? Was it from the cold feeling of the metal handcuff that was on her wrists? Maybe, it was from the chills she felt, as she stared almost involuntarily transfixed, by his hollow eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dim light.

Her left eye stung from the blood and sweat that had managed to trickle its way into it. She tried unsuccessfully to blink the sting away. Earlier, when her senses had come back to her, she had struggled. They demonstrated to her that they had not been amused.

"Now, we have to send him a very clear message," she noticed the man in the suit say. She eyed the two men that stood beside him. Her attention returned to him as he spoke again. "A message that he will not ignore."

The man in the suit stopped suddenly as if an idea came to him, he smiled a predatory sort of smile. "You have lovely eyes and beautiful long hair," her eyes widen as he came closer to her with the knife. All she could focus on in that moment of terror was the scar on his face.


	76. Chapter 76

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 76

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and for following.

***** Important. I wrote several chapters condensed on four pages, so you know what I am about to say, again.

1. Read a quote a day. (Each quote represents a chapter. Some are long , some are short.)

Or

2. Read as much as you want at one time. Enjoy.

3. The last quote is a bit of a cliffy. Save that chapter until it is closer to the weekend, if that bothers you. Make yourself happy.

To my other family.

Peace, Coffee, and Love to all, Zacha. :)

* * *

_**"**__**The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.**__**"~ Flora Whittemore**_

* * *

John stood frozen for a moment standing and staring. Sherlock walked from the bedroom talking as he went along. He walked to John.

"The Marwick's case John. Lestrade is coming over to …" Sherlock stopped his speech suddenly.

"John," Sherlock noted the fact that John did not answer but stood staring at the wall. Sherlock eyes narrowed as he noticed the mobile clutched tightly in one hand and his other hand wrapped around something.

Sherlock mind started to twirl as data and information was organized in his mind. He walked close to John and pried the mobile from John's still hands. John was not resisting Sherlock; he had simply not noticed that he had such a tight grip on the mobile. He looked in the eyes of his friend as he did this. John was trying to avoid Sherlock's eyes. John just stood still unmoving. Sherlock read his mobile text and looked down for a bit, as his mind added this new information to the data he already stored in his mind.

Sherlock suddenly looked at John and frowned.

"John, open your hands."

John did not move. Sherlock's frown deepened.

"John," Sherlock said more firmly. John blinked a few times and seemed to notice Sherlock. "Open your hands, John." John did and waited. He was deceptively quiet. Sherlock invaded John's personal space now. He was careful to maintain eye contact with John. Sherlock eyes suddenly left John's eyes as he looked down into his hands.

John straightened his mouth in a thin line and opened his hands. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and slowly raised his eyes from John's hand to John's eyes. Eyes that were now looking at Sherlock. John eyes were like two torches. It was as if the intensity of its blaze could melt metal.

John closed his hand again around the long and bloody strand of human hair.

Sherlock deduced John, his eyes started to widen. "Now John…" Sherlock's words were cut short when John abruptly and briskly walked to the door. Sherlock ran in front of the door and stopped him.

Sherlock held up one hand pleadingly. "John, think about this, it's a trap, a game, one of his games."

John looked at Sherlock and smiled as he pretended that he was going to retreat. Moments later, he was almost out the door as he spun his body past Sherlock in a move that was worthy of his former rugby days. Even with Sherlock's long arms, he was barely able to hold on to John. Sherlock pinned John's arms next to his body by encircling John body with his arms from behind.

"Now, John, be calm. Let's talk this through."

John struggled and argued with Sherlock to let him go while Sherlock struggled and repeated for John to calm down. Sherlock and John fell to the floor. Sherlock was barely able to keep his grip on the struggling man. Sherlock held the struggling man tightly to his chest with his chest pressed against John's back. John sat confined between Sherlock's legs as Sherlock tightened his arms around his friend to keep his friend contained. John's movements eventually slowed as his breath came in and out heavily from his struggles.

"Are we calm, John?"

"Yes," John said between gritted teeth.

"You're lying." Sherlock said simply.

"Yes." However, John stopped all struggles.

"Do you promise not to run off until you've at least heard me out?"

John only nodded.

Sherlock studied John's face for a minute before he released him and pushed his body away from his. He remained close, however. John leaned back against the wall after sliding into it. Sherlock sat cross-legged in front of him.

"It's a trap," Sherlock said without preambles.

"Yes. Yes, I know. Even us mere mortals every now and then can have an intelligent thought." John looked at Sherlock who raised an eyebrow wordlessly before responding again. "Before you say it again, **I Am Calm!**" John pouted.

"Yes, John I can see that," Sherlock said dryly.

John sighed and looked at Sherlock. "I'm listening."

"I'm going with you." Sherlock looked at him intently as he added, "And, it will be planned out, not an emotional escapade where we run around, shouting to the heavens, and waving our gun." He attempted a small smile. "Perhaps the waving of the gun part is appropriate."

Sherlock's comment surprised John. He was sure that Sherlock would have tried to stop him, but he did not. He was actually suggesting that they both go. John, however, could not risk Sherlock.

"I am to come alone," John, pointed out. He added with hesitation as he looked at the floor. He felt every bit the hypocrite. "I cannot risk the fact that you might become hurt."

"I seem to remember a certain Doctor John Watson giving a spectacular display when a Sherlock Holmes tried to leave this very flat." Sherlock looked pointedly at John. John squirmed as he found the floor suddenly fascinating. After a brief moment, he sighed resigned.

"What's the plan?" John asked, finally looking up at Sherlock. Sherlock, during the next two minutes, explained what would probably happen, the risks, and how he planned to attempt to keep everyone involved alive. John listened intently as he asked a few questions. John finally nodded as he was helped off the floor.

Sherlock stood above his friend and extended a hand pulling. John was tugged to his feet, but he did not let go of Sherlock's hand right away. He looked up into Sherlock's eyes, while he still held his hand. He said in all seriousness, "This could end badly, Sherlock."

"There's a sixty-five percent possibility that one of us or all of us will be injured or killed." Sherlock looked thoughtful. "It would decrease to forty-five percent if we had two guns not one."

"I love it when you talk percentages Sherlock." John raised an eyebrow as he gave Sherlock the first real smile he managed since getting his little _souvenir_ earlier. This earned him a chuckle from Sherlock.

"Alrighty then." John squeezed Sherlock's hand before suddenly letting go and running off to his bedroom. John returned carrying two guns and bullets for each.

"Mycroft gave you this weapon about eight months ago along with the papers allowing you to possess it. I …um…keep it for you until you need it." John handed him the weapon.

Sherlock took the firearm and loaded it with bullets; somehow, it felt familiar even though he could not remember ever holding it.

Sherlock said with annoyance, "Why do you need to keep the gun that Mycroft secured for me? I am not a child who needs someone to hold his toys for him."

John stopped loading the bullets into his weapon to look at Sherlock incredulously. He cleared his throat. Sherlock stopped to look at John. John then pointedly looked at his gun. He looked at the yellow smiley face on the wall with teeth and eyebrows in the shape of bullet holes. He then looked back at Sherlock with his eyebrows raised and chin in the air.

Sherlock frowned for a moment then looked away from John as he resumed loading his weapon.

"Point taken," Sherlock finally said slightly insulted.

Minutes later, they were ready to go with their coats on. A thought occurred to John.

"Mycroft will never allow us to go, we'll never get past his men."

Sherlock smiled as he picked up his mobile. After a moment, he went to the window and looked as two black Mercedes sped off, and turned the corner of the street. The flicker of a shadow in Sherlock's peripheral vision passed as a body interrupted the sun's rays. This announced John's arrival. Sherlock, however, did not need this physical clue. He felt John's presence beside him.

"Should I even ask how you did that?" John asked while looking at the road below.

Sherlock frowned as he cleared his throat and gestured with one hand. "I…acquired Mycroft authorization number. The men watching just received a text that I have somehow escaped and was in Regent's Park. I was saving it for just the right moment. Mycroft is no fool; he'll change his authorization number now."

John only looked at Sherlock. How far did his ability to be devious go, he wondered.

"I'm only glad that Thomas was not here today, he's not altogether unintelligent." Sherlock looked at John. "Are you sure?"

"She's a pain in the arse, but, she's my sister, Sherlock."

"I know John. Well, we don't have much time before they realize the deception."

Sherlock briskly walked to his bedroom, leaving John wondering by the window. He quickly returned and walked down the stairs. He did not look. He knew that John would follow.

John was surprised that Sherlock did not exit the door but walked into Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock called out. Mrs. Hudson came out of the kitchen talking.

"I was just about to see if you boys wanted a cuppa." Her smile faded as she looked from Sherlock to John.

"John, not you too. You couldn't stop him so you're going along?" She asked with exasperation as her hands found their way to her hips.

"I'll have you know Mrs. Hudson that I could not stop **John**, so **I **am accompanying him." Sherlock looked smug.

"Well," Mrs. Hudson sighed as she sat tiredly. "At least that's a new one." She looked at her boys. "What are you up to you sods?"

"No time, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said dramatically. "Please, ensure that Mycroft gets this message in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes exactly," Sherlock, stressed.

Mrs. Hudson sighed heavier, "I know love. I've done this before." Mrs. Hudson reached for both of her boy's wrists and squeezed. "I never thought I'd ever say this but, keep John from doing anything nutty." She looked from one face to the other. "Well, off with you. And, don't be late for supper."

Both men took turns kissing the older woman on the cheek. She watched as they disappeared out the window. It was certainly not boring living with the two.

She needed to start cooking, but first she needed to do something. She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and folded her hands to pray.

"Well…it's me again…"

* * *

A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. Please leave a comment.

Thanks for the Favs and Following. Love to all.

Update coming.


	77. Chapter 77

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 77

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Danishprince (thank you for your words, they mean a lot), gemstone1234 (Sorry for the wait), hJohn302 (Thank for the multiple post. And thanks for the chuckle. Enjoy.) Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. I admire your will power.), Catie501 (Thank for the comments and multiple post. You always make me smile.), eohippus, (Thank for the multiple post. An answer to a comment you made will be found hidden within the chapters.) Voldemort101 (You're the best, thanks :)),

Thank you ; Catie501, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippus , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, (Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , Danishprince, EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

Notes:

*****Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence.****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game…

One more bonus chapter on Tuesday. Sorry for the delay.

To my other family.

**Note:_ crack on_ means to move quickly or with speed.**

**A/N: **Hi everyone. I have three chapters for you with a bonus chapter Tuesday. I wrote this earlier in the week and stayed up the majority of the night and finished on late Friday. I saved it to download to the site and lost it. I looked everywhere. I thought maybe I corrupted the file because I edited it on my Smartphone. I was not happy, this is the second time that this has happened to me. When I tried to open the document, it was missing. I wish that I could say that I was immediately mature but I was not. I spent near an hour pouting and feeling sorry for myself. That is when I realized that I had a choice to make and I made it. I wrote again. Just venting. I said all that to say that if something is going wrong in your life right now, it's OK to pout, but then get up and try again. Cheesy, but it's true.**  
**

_Lots of Love, Zacha**  
**_

* * *

"_**The true test of character is not how much we know how to do, but how we behave when we don't know what to do**_."~ _John W. Holt, Jr._

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Mrs. Hudson tapped her fingers nervously on the table. She glanced at her watch and sighed. She could not stop the startled jump that occurred involuntarily when her mobile phone vibrated on the table. Her hands quickly grabbed at the device. She read the message. It was from Sherlock. She glanced again at her mobile and pressed in a number. She waited breathlessly as she counted to herself.

_Ten_

_Nine_

_Eight_

_Seven_

_Six_

_Five_

_Four_

_Three _

_Two_

_Send_

The mobile phone line was answered almost immediately."Where is he?" Mycroft's obviously irritated voice asked.

"Yes… well there is a message and an address. Three possible addresses." Mrs. Hudson read the three possible addresses off, and the message.

Mrs. Hudson pulled the mobile from her ears. Her eyebrows rose as she wondered if she heard correctly. She thought that she heard the normally unflappable Mycroft Holmes use profanity. Mrs. Hudson looked at her mobile again with raised eyebrows as she disconnected the call. She decided that it must have been her imagination.

* * *

It was an overcast day but not raining. The sun rays would peek through the opaque gray clouds then retreat behind them again. A steady and cool breeze blew.

It was early evening. Watson and Holmes had managed to knock out two of the men guarding the building. They were tied and gagged despite the fact that they were unconscious. Sherlock was fairly sure that they had surveillance and would be able to determine that they arrived. Still, in his mind, it was two men he did not have to worry about. There was scarcely a sound as both men stepped lightly on the cracked concrete floor of the long ago abandoned warehouse. The Consultant Detective naturally moved quietly like a cat. He held his body confidently and stepped gracefully without thought.

John looked around systematically as he moved. Walking quietly did not come naturally to John. However, years of training as a soldier, and trying to stay alive in a war, had taught him how to effectively move unnoticed.

Both of their guns were aimed in front of their bodies. As they approached the area of the building Sherlock believed John's sister to be in, both men hid their guns in their trouser backs. They had decided to go that way because of the fact that they would have to have a confrontation with Moriarty for Harry Watson. They did not have enough fire support to force the criminal and his men to surrender.

The dimly lit passageway opened into a gigantic room. There were other larger rooms seen through three open doors. Luckily, the building was much smaller than most they had been in.

As they crossed the last open area, the dimly lit room came slowly into view. There were three chairs. An irate Harry Watson was sitting in the middle chair with her hands cuffed in front of her body. Four rather large men were standing still. Two were on the left of the chairs, two were on the right. Sherlock without looking held on to the hem of John's jacket as he felt John take a step toward his sister.

Sherlock's mind heard John as his breathing increased to an audible level. He did not need to look at his friend, to know that his body was tensed and ready to go. He also knew that John was a disciplined ex-soldier who would not move despite his feelings unless he felt that a life was in immediate danger.

Sherlock's body stilled. Sherlock mind quieted. His eyes moved as it scanned the room. Information and data flowed into his mind at a swift speed. Useless information was deleted almost as quickly as it was processed.

The room seemed to narrow as his mind focused on specifics.

Sherlock looked at Harry and made a a deduction. She seemed to be in no immediate danger. She was bruised about the face and had a gash at her hairline that seemed to have bled a bit. Dried blood was on the side of her face, neck, and shirt collar. Her long blond hair was entirely cut off. Her hair was hacked off in irregular patterns. She looked like a five year old that had tried to cut her hair herself for the first time.

Sherlock doubted that there was even a point to the act. Except for humiliation. Sebastian seemed to enjoy other people's distress, having power over them. He was glad that he had cut her hair only. If he was not under Moriarty's orders, it could have just as easily been a finger, or an eye that he had sent to John as a present, instead of a bloodied piece of hair.

Next, he made a general scan of the room.

It was set up quickly, Holmes thought.

_Red solid lights..._

_ Monitor-Speakers..._

_Wires leading from the table to floor, then disappearing behind the wall..._

_Draft, there is another entrance..._

_No..._

_Two entrances..._

_Left side behind the door..._

_Two ways into the room..._

_Monitor, two way communication..._

_Moriarty is not here in person..._

_He has anticipated gunfire..._

_Seven men armed, they have not killed, or tried to capture us yet, or even taken our guns..._

_**Ah**..._

_A game._

Sherlock asked John quietly so that only he could hear. "Does Harry have a heart condition?"

"No Sherlock, why?" Sherlock was already focused on something else, and did not answer. John was about to ask again, when he recognized the look in the Consultant Detective's eyes, so, said nothing. John realized that he was trying to use the time that was left to take everything in.

Holmes now looked at the men in the room as he assessed their strengths and weaknesses. Only four minutes had passed.

"Mr. Holmes," Sebastian said as he walked close to Harry.

"Sebastian," Holmes said coolly as he attempted to move further into the space. He was attempting to make his way toward John's sister. John mimicked his friend's movements.

Both men were surprised when Sebastian allowed them to come within a few yards of Harry.

Moran's teeth appear unnaturally white as he moved from the dimmer lit corner to the centre of the room. He had a gun in his hand that was aimed down. Sebastian Moran tapped the gun on his thigh as he walked.

Sherlock now looked at Sebastian and deduced him. He made a point of not frowning.

"Mr. Moriarty will be with you soon Mr. Holmes. While we wait, I want you to think about something." Sebastian smiled widened.

"John, curse if you need to, but… don't move," Sherlock said quietly to John. John frowned as he looked at Sherlock. He noticed that Sherlock held his wrist firmly but he looked at Moran and Harry not him. John's frown deepened as he now looked at the two.

Moran walked over to Harry. She had not said a word but stared death daggers with her eyes at Moran. The bruise on her face in the shape of a hand confirmed that she had learned the hard way to be quiet.

Moran leaned down while he maintained eye contact with Holmes and brutally kissed the woman. She tried to turn away but said nothing. Moran then made a point of looking at John. Sherlock's hold on John's wrist tightened. He heard John cursing Moran down to the third generation, but he managed not to move. Sherlock mind quickly worked out the message. Sebastian's nonverbal threat was remarkably clear. _Tell Moriarty what I've done, and I will kill John before Moriarty has a chance to kill me. _

Sherlock smirked. How frightfully pedestrian although admittedly effective, he thought.

Both groups waited in silence for three minutes. Suddenly the monitor came to life. Sherlock moved his eyes only and noticed that the steady red lights in the corner now were blinking in a steady rhythm.

Moriarty's voice came out of the speakers in the room. Moriarty's face took up almost the entire screen. Sherlock looked curiously at the screen. Two-way communication, Sherlock said to himself. It was almost as if Moriarty was trying to recreate an image of a crap telly game show.

"Well hello Ben." Moriarty said cheerfully.

Sherlock's said nothing at first as he first glanced away at the three small silver bins turned upside down on the table that were spread directly in front of Harry.

"Jim," Sherlock said. Sherlock glanced at the flat screen television on the wall and responded as he made a point of turning his eyes and looking at Sebastian. He now turned his attention back to the flat screen as he ignored Sebastian's clinched jaw.

Moriarty laughed almost as if he was enjoying himself at a dinner party.

"Well, just call to say hello. Sorry, I could not be there in person, but I have an operation to run, criminals to advice, and people to murder. Busy, busy, busy! Besides love, this is only the beginning. And, I suspect that your annoying brother is on the way." Moriarty's face was abnormally close to the screen. His expression was manic and disjointed. Sherlock resisted the urge to frown.

"A game," Sherlock said casually in a voice that sounded bored. He hid the fact that his heart was racing, well. He had let go of John's wrist and gave him a glance as they communicated wordlessly with their eyes. John gave the slightest nod to indicate that he understood. John's body tensed as he prepared for anything.

Moriarty smiled a real smile now as the cartoon like manic look left. A curious look took its place. "And, this game would involve?" Moriarty seemed to turn his eyes as if he could see John.

Sherlock discreetly looked up at the red light that seemed to move.

"John and some choice. This game was for him … but not really… it was for me. You knew that I would not let him come alone." Sherlock spoke as his mind tried to find the answer to the puzzle.

"Good - good - good," Moriarty said rapidly.

"Speaking of John. John you were exceedingly knotty. What did my text tell you John?" Moriarty's voice took on a whiny tone.

John looked at Sherlock for direction. Sherlock nodded. John noticed his grim look as he spoke. "It said _Sherlock, John, or Harriett. You choose. Come alone._"

"Did you come alone?" Moriarty asked.

John did not answer.

"I am here now. You obviously knew that I would come, and prepared for the possibility. No harm done Jim." Sherlock said as he took a small step forward. He tried to get personal by saying Jim and not Moriarty. He was trying to take the attention off of John. He did not like the way that Moriarty seemed to be focused on him.

Moriarty smiled for a minute. He barely nodded. Two of the men moved to the table and removed the bins. Three small vials full of a clear liquid were on the table. John's, Harry's, and Sherlock's attention were focused on the vials.

Another man carried out large and tiny square shaped containers. The larger of the containers had a decidedly troubling sound. Moriarty's voice interrupted their thoughts. Sherlock looked at the screen with Moriarty's face on it. Moriarty seemed to smile wider when he saw understanding in Holmes eyes.

Sebastian came up to them, as he looked John up and down smiling.

"You are about to have a series of test. One word will guide you. Choice. I know who you are. You're me. We're the same. You have control here Ben, or is it Sherlock? Who are you really?" There was a brief silence, as Moriarty looked upward thoughtfully.

"Well, LET US FIND OUT, SHALL WE!" Moriarty yelled suddenly.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"_Watson ou que vous choisissez_." Moriarty said suddenly, all business.

"_moi_." Sherlock said evenly. John stiffened his body as he prepared himself.

Sebastian held his earpiece in place as he listened to Moriarty's private instructions. Sebastian's smile widened. His eyes now looked from John to Holmes. Three of the four men walked close.

* * *

The sound of Althea's high-heeled black leather shoes tapped rhythmically on the marble floors. She walked through the corridor down toward the elegant wooden doors of the conference room. Analysts, M16 agents, handlers, and support staff passed in hurried steps, each desiring to reach their destinations quickly. Her fingers danced across her phone gracefully.

New information suggested an imminent terrorist attack and the tension could almost be felt. The disappearance of the brother of Mycroft Holmes, the British Government added to that tension. Her steps quickened.

Anthea's rhythm faltered as her steps slowed momentarily. She read something on her mobile. Her steps now quickened into almost a slow run.

* * *

Mycroft sat quietly as he took in the activities. He was livid when he heard of Sherlock's latest stunt. Two cars had rushed off to Regents Park thinking that the younger Holmes was there. The devil had been at the flat the entire time waiting for them to leave so that he could slip out.

Mycroft sighed. He was grateful that at least Sherlock had not run off by himself this time, John was with him. Mycroft thought further. More correctly, this time around, Sherlock was with John.

The conference room was busy with activities. CCTV footage was being reviewed carefully. The trackers in the younger Holmes shoes, clothing, and mobile were in the process of being turned on. Everyone was waiting for the word that it had been activated.

Sherlock Holmes had purposely worn his shoes that he knew had a tracker in it. Sherlock had notified Mycroft's staff that he was wearing the shoes with the tracker and activated his mobile. They were ten agents in the adjoining room waiting for the signal to start transmitting. Twelve agents were already doing surveillance on the three possible sites as instructed by the younger Holmes note.

Mycroft's attention was shifted to the door.

* * *

Anthea's slim fingers, hands, and arms extended as they pressed forcefully against the heavy solid wooden doors. The elegant wooden doors that led to the conference room opened. Everyone stopped talking and turned to the agent, giving her their full attention.

"We have a location. I have dispatched ambulances, the local police, and the bomb unit."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow impressed as he looked at Anthea.

"Sir, this is Moriarty." Was her simple reply.

Everyone attention was once again shifted to the door. A suited tall and muscular man stood in the door.

"You're supposed to take another week to recover." Mycroft said as he walked close to the agent he considered his most trusted.

"I heard," was the simple reply.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Let's move. Ladies and gentlemen, rapidity is appropriate. Thomas with me." Mycroft was already moving.

There was a sudden flurry of activities as some briskly walked, and some jogged, others ran slowly.

Anthea and Thomas walked hurried beside Mycroft. As they walked, Anthea informed Thomas of all the latest events, and of the Master Criminal's latest, and newest game.

* * *

**Note.**

1. _**Watson or you, choose**,_ is translated into, _**Watson ou que vous choisissez**._ (Anyone who writes in French feel free to correct my grammar if incorrect. :)

2.**_ moi,_ **is translated into, _**me**._


	78. Chapter 78

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 78

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence.****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game ….

* * *

" _**It's not whether you get knocked down; it's whether you get up**_." ~ Vince Lombardi

* * *

It knocked Sherlock down even though he was expecting it. He heard John's protest and struggles. He gritted his teeth together to keep from crying out. They beat him with Sebastian taking the lead and giving direction. He wanted to tell John not to struggle so that he would not be hurt, but, he could not speak. Sherlock could not seem to catch his breath in between blows. The blows to his torso, back, and legs seemed to take the breath out of him. It was more painful because of the fact that some of the blows landed on still healing bruises. The next few blows came quickly then it was over. The final blow was to the face and made Sherlock's head spin.

John, now freed, knelt beside Sherlock. Sherlock spit something that taste of copper out of his mouth on the cracked concrete floor. "Help me up John." Sherlock gasped out. John nodded and pulled at his friend as he staggered, wincing to his feet.

Sherlock looked at the bruise on John's jaw and frowned. John apparently was fighting to get to him, and this action when his other bruise had just healed. Now there would be another one. Sherlock pulled himself up and with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances, he straighten his twisted clothing.

"What now." Sherlock asked, as he was finally able to straighten his pained torso. He looked at the monitor that had Jim Moriarty's face on it.

"Three vials. Two harmless. One a slow acting poison. I want John to choose the poison and take it. If he agrees to do this, I will release his sister, and you unharmed. Oh, there is a little matter of getting the key out of the box and opening the handcuffs." Moriarty stopped and looked.

"He should poison himself?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

"Don't be a baby. I said slow acting. I even have the antidote that I will give you." Moriarty smiled.

"It's alright Sherlock," John said as he spoke up for the first time. Sherlock looked at him, and a frown slipped past his defenses before he made his face blank again. Sherlock nodded to John.

"And, you're just going to give us the antidote." Sherlock said with suspicion.

"Oh well, there are a few things that you need to do for it."

"You can even help him, if you're willing to pay the price. Well, must run. It seems that your annoying brother is trying to find you. It is all rather adorable, really. Make it out alive and I will give further instructions." There was a pause. "One more thing. Once you uncuffed her, you'll have to shoot your way out. Feel free to use the gun that you would have been stupid to come without. I thought that I would give you something easy to start out with."

"Ta, Ta." The screen went black suddenly. Game show music came on softly in the background. Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sherlock looked at the red light. It was still blinking. So, Moriarty was still looking, probably listening as well.

Sebastian walked over to John now. "Choose the poison, take it. Give Holmes and the woman the two vials that are harmless." Sebastian said evenly. He almost sounded bored as if he had done this a thousand times. Maybe, he had.

"What happens if I refuse," John asked. Sherlock knew that he was trying to buy time hoping that Mycroft's men would break down the doors.

"I shoot her in the head, I shoot you in the leg, both, and I beat him into unconsciousness. I'm not allowed to touch his face, however." Sebastian said with a smile.

Sebastian looked at Holmes bruised jaw and split lip. "Whoops, it seems as if you've slipped and fell Mr. Holmes."

"I want to help him." Sherlock said quickly ignoring the man's remarks.

Sebastian held his earpiece again. "I am told to remind you that it comes with a price."

"I accept those conditions," was Holmes reply.

John watched grimly as Sherlock was grabbed so abruptly that he almost lost his balance.

Sherlock grimaced as he was pushed a little rougher than necessary and put into the chair beside Harry. Within a second, something thick with wires was snapped on her wrist. She looked with confusion to Holmes and noticed that the same thing was placed on his wrist. The snapping sound as the device closed sounded unnaturally loud in the small space.

"Keep your feet flat on the floor," Sherlock said. He attempted what he hoped was a reassuring look. They both did not get along on the best day. This was not the best day. Harry did know one thing, however, in this situation; her brother's annoying flatmate was the one that should be listened to. She barely had time to nod when. Her muscles contracted. It only lasted a second. However, it hurt. She caught her breath and notice that Holmes seemed to be catching his, as well. His eyes seemed to be focused on the vials of liquid in front of him as if he was studying it while catching his breath. The fact that despite the pain that they had just been through, Holmes would immediately focus on the strange liquid in front of him, made her afraid. Harry was too proud to show this fact to their captor. Her family was military. She thinned her lips and put on a brave face. She, however, could not help glancing at the vials and Holmes face as he concentrated.

"Choose," Sebastian said with irritation.

So, Mycroft must be getting closer, John thought. John walked as slowly as he thought he could get away with, and examined the vials.

Sherlock looked at John but did not say a word. John looked with some confusion in his face then looked at Sebastian. "You said that he was allowed to help me. Are there any rules?"

Sherlock looked relieved. Sebastian looked annoyed. John had apparently asked the right question.

"Four questions. No more than twenty words each. Once started you have fifteen minutes to choose then drink the poison, give them their nonpoisonous vials. Uncuff them and shoot your way out. As long as it is not words. You can use gestures to communicate. Antidote over there in that smaller box." Sebastian said rapidly. "If you're thinking about delaying. The first bullet that I hear fired from any gun other than our guns, and a bullet goes into her brain." Moran smiled at that.

"Now. Start," Moran said dangerously.

Both men knew that they would have to hurry. Mycroft was probably close. They both also knew that the trackers would take Mycroft's men within their general area. Mycroft's men would still have to search.

John ran over to the vials and held them in front of Sherlock's eyes one-by-one. He was careful to keep them in some kind of order. Sherlock would nod then John would move to the next vial. Sherlock seemed to debate with himself for a second.

"Turn them upside down once then upright so that I can see if there are any bubbles." Sherlock said quickly.

"Alright," John complied.

Sherlock looked with deep concentration as each vial was turned upside down then upright. He mentally noted the look, consistency, and the rate at which the bubbles rose. Sherlock thought he had the answer but could not be sure.

Sherlock spoke again. "Open the vial and let me smell them before you use different fingers to put one drop on my tongue." Sherlock glanced at Sebastian to see if there were any objections to his sentence or to his actions. Sebastian's only response was a glare.

John quickly complied again.

Sherlock smelled the first vial. John put a drop on his tongue. "Give this one to Harry." John took one-step and looked at Harry. She opened her eyes and looked in her brother's eyes. John attempted a smile. It looked more like a grimace. She opened her mouth and allowed her brother to pour the vial onto it. She swallowed after coughing at the horrid taste and nodded to him. John squeezed her shoulder and moved on to the next vial.

The second vial was put under Sherlock's nose. He made a face then nodded. John took a different finger and put a drop on Sherlock. He spit it out on the floor. He looked at John. John understood and put that aside for himself.

The last vial was smelt. Yet another finger was put on Sherlock's tongue. Sherlock nodded and opened his mouth. John poured the vial in his mouth. Sherlock grimaced as he swallowed the bitter liquid.

John went to the vial that was put aside. He opened it to drink it, but before he did, he smiled at Sherlock and said. "I'll have you know that I fully expect you to save my arse."

Harry lost it and ranted. "I cannot believe that you're just sitting there casually and going to let your so called best friend take poison. What kind of a man are you Sherlock…"

"SHUT UP!" Sebastian got in her face and yelled with so much anger that spit was actually flying from his mouth. The disappointment of not being able to properly torture anyone, coupled with the knowledge that his time to escapes was slipping away, did not make him a happy man.

He raised his gun as if he was about to hit her. John put his body in front of his big sister as he prepared to take the blow instead of her.

Sebastian seemed to reconsider as he raised his eyebrows and suddenly calmed. He thought for a moment. "Drink the drink, Doctor Watson."

"Joh…" Harry started to say.

"Shut up Harry," John hissed urgently before he quickly swallowed the liquid and grimaced. Harry opened, but looked at John, then closed her mouth.

"I drank it," John said needlessly.

Sebastian almost hummed to himself as he unhooked the shock device from Harry's wrist. She rubbed her wrist absently. Moran left the leg restraints on. "The key to her leg restraint is in that large box. Holmes had to be the one to reach in and pick it up with his hands. The smaller box with the code lock on it is the antidote; feel free to walk away with it. Maybe run away with it would be more appropriate."

"Well, I'd better be off." Sebastian hummed as he walked away. If anyone other than Holmes gets the key, shoot them, her in the head, and the doctor in both legs." Sebastian stopped when he was almost out the room. "Oh I almost forgot. Choose"

Sherlock closed his eye sighed then opened them, "Me," Sherlock said.

"Not you Mr. Holmes, you Doctor Watson. Choose. Your sister or Holmes?" Sebastian asked with a growing smile.

"What am I choosing?" The answer suddenly occurred as his eyes noticed that Sherlock was still attached to the device. John ignored Sherlock's voice that was telling him to just say that he chose him.

John cursed when the realization came to him. "Me, I choose me," John said desperately.

"You heard him John. He is willing to take it. You cannot get shocked with that poison going through your body. John..." Harry was again cut off. "Shut up Harry!" John hissed with urgency.

"I just dialed it higher because of your mouth. I already told you... Shut. Up!" Sebastian glared at Harry.

"Wait a minute..." Harry said indignantly.

"It's even higher now. Any higher means death. Another word and nothing will be able to stop me." The deadly calm in Sebastian's voice is what made her suddenly stop.

"For peace sake Harry, shut up will you," John pleaded. She now noticed that his gun was out and aimed. John had his hand firmly on her shoulder squeezing to get her attention. Maybe, they were right, Caroline was right. Maybe, she did have a temper.

She looked angry but finally shut up.

"Not you Doctor, your sister or Holmes." Sebastian's attention was turned by to Watson.

"John, please, there's no time." John looked brokenly into Sherlock's eyes. Both he and Sherlock knew what was happening. Sebastian found a way to torture them both. John in the mind because it was his words that would cause his best friend pain. Sherlock in both body and mind. Despite Sherlock's cool exterior. John knew that this was difficult. Sherlock attempted to smile. John face became blank. He steeled himself as he said. "S… Sherlock, I choose him." John's voice was quiet. "Please put something in his mouth."

Moran was quiet for a moment then nodded.

John took off is trouser belt quickly before Sebastian could change his mind. He walked over to Sherlock. Sherlock opened his mouth and bit down on John's belt. Both men locked eyes for a moment before John moved to where one of the other guards had pointed.

John wanted to look away but did not dare. He would not let Sherlock go through this alone.

He watched helplessly as Sherlock's body spasm and shuddered painfully as the electrical currents ran through his body... His eyes rolled in the back of his head as the room swam in front of him. Sherlock gagged incoherently with pain as his body contracted so hard that he almost knocked the chair over. This time a stronger and slightly longer charge of electricity was used.

* * *

Sherlock became disoriented. The room spun and tilted as he fought to regain his focus and become oriented. He struggled to get oxygen into his starved lungs. Meaningless noises started to come into focus. John? Was that John talking to him? There was something noteworthy that he had to do. Now if his bloody mind and body would just cooperate.

"… Sherlock, say something." John glanced at the two guards that were still there. Everyone else had left. He looked at him and their guns that had been tossed in the corner.

When John looked back at Sherlock, his eyes were starting to clear. "J… John, I'm F… Fine."

"I can tell that you're fine mate," John whispered with a sad smile as he worriedly looked at his friend.

Sherlock looked confused for a moment. He did not know how he had gotten on the floor. Did I lose consciousness, his mottled mind wondered. He looked at his hands and now realized that they were free. One of the guards must have freed him.

Sherlock attempted to get up. John subconsciously moved toward Sherlock. However, Sherlock's voice stopped him. "Have to do alone." Sherlock said with an unsteady voice. Sherlock eyes travel to the guard and his gun. John nodded and took a step back. John put his hands behind his back and grabbed them so that he would not forget and reach out for Sherlock again.

Sherlock grunted from the effort as he used the chair then the table to help pull himself up to a standing position. His legs were wobbly and he barely kept himself upright. He used the table for support. Sherlock looked around for something to grab on to but found nothing. He frowned and looked around as he blinked away the last of the mental fog. Sherlock was sweating and still felt like the room needed more air. Sherlock could not seem to slow his breathing down much.

"You can do it." John said encouragingly. They were both happy that Harry was finally quiet.

Sherlock nodded and took a few shaky steps toward the boxes that were off by themselves in a corner on top of a smaller table. The distance suddenly seemed ridiculously long.

John remained beside him step-for-step with his hands still clasped behind his back.

Sherlock walked slower than he would have liked. His body swayed dangerously. He kept one hand in front of his body. Sherlock felt a wave of nausea rolled over him; he closed his eyes against it. Sherlock tried to orient himself and regain his sense of balance. He kept his eyes on the ground. The last of the cobwebs cleared, now. He felt more confident with each step. Unfortunately, he looked up too quickly to judge where the table was and fell toward it.

John grabbed at Sherlock but luckily, that moment of hesitation on John's part made him miss his friend's body. They both looked at the guards. Neither moved. Both men looked at each other. John looked into Sherlock eyes as they communicated. John raised his eyebrows. Sherlock sighed and gave the slightest of a nod. He let go of his pride as he crawled the remainder of the short distance to the table. He arrived quickly and pulled himself up.

A strange sound was coming from the box. Sherlock already knew what it was.

"Stand back John," Sherlock said weakly.

John frowned but stood back slightly. The truth was he had no intention of moving too far away from Sherlock.

He opened the lid and the hissing sound filled their ears. Sherlock chuckled lightly. John was worried about Sherlock. He looked again and personally found nothing funny.

"John," Sherlock said as he turned to John, "I'm beginning to think that Sebastian doesn't like me."

John raised an eyebrow then chuckled along with him despite their situation. They both needed the stress released.

"John."

"Yes Sherlock."

"I hate snakes."

"I know Sherlock."

Sherlock looked around for a solution. It had not been cold enough for gloves so he took it out of his coat pocket.

"Is it venomous?" John asked as he too looked around for something to scoop up the keys with.

"Quite," Sherlock looked at his coat. It was a thick coat. Maybe if he was quick. "Death in forty minutes. Maybe slower if there is no movement."

John looked at Sherlock.

"It could be worse." Sherlock said quietly.

"How could it possibly be worse?" John whispered to Sherlock

"Death in ten minutes." Sherlock shrugged then winced as he pulled his coat partially off of one shoulder.

John smiled at Sherlock. His smile left as he took a deep breath. "You have to be quick. Normally slow and sneak up on it, but your hands… the shaking."

"I have a thick oven mitt." Harry for the first time in minutes spoke.

"Good, that's very good. Where is it Harry?" John asked as both men looked at her.

"It's somewhere in my foldaway shopping bag. They put them somewhere in the building." Harry said helpfully.

Sherlock stared at John's sister and opened his mouth to say everything he had wanted to say for the last twenty minutes. John's voice stopped him.

"Sherlock, I know you really want to, but we have to focus. Maybe, you'll have time to yell at her later." John said quietly.

Sherlock huffed as he attempted a quick glare. In his current state, it only looked like a grimace and lost all of its normal intimidation.

Sherlock resumed attempting to pull the cuff of his coat tightly together so that his hands were thoroughly covered. John watched intently, looking for any areas that had exposed skin. John was about to suggest that they practice twice outside the box before he attempted the grab.

"Time to crack on, I suppose." Before John could give another comment, Sherlock shocked him by grabbing at the keys. The keys slip as soon as he grabbed them. Without hesitation, he grabbed them again and pulled his hand up as the snake bit at his coat. Sherlock hissed. The key dropped on the floor.

"Sherlock!" John grabbed at Sherlock's hand. Sherlock pulled back his hand. "I wasn't bitten," Sherlock said abruptly. "I was just startled."

"Let me look," John insisted.

"JOHN!" Sherlock said firmly as he slipped his coat back on. Raising his voice seemed to have drained some of his energy. "The guards are gone. We have minutes before they start to shoot. Take the cuff off your sister's ankles."

John looked around, then back at Sherlock. Sherlock exhaled heavily. "I'll waddle over and get the guns," Sherlock said with a tight smile.

Sherlock heard John run as he staggered to the guns. He picked them up with shaking hands. Sherlock barely kept himself from falling down. John and Harry were by his side in less than a minute. John took one gun. Sherlock attempted to call Mycroft, but his hands could not find the correct number despite the fact that he was pre-programmed as number two. John was number one. John wordlessly pushed the number and gave the mobile back to Sherlock.

"Antidote?" Sherlock asked in a rough and low voice.

John nodded woodenly once.

Harry took one shoulder and grunted as she pushed. She smiled a rare apology as Sherlock nodded. Everyone agreed non-verbally that it was best for John's hands to be free. John took out his gun and silently led the way.


	79. Chapter 79

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 79

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence.****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game ….

* * *

_**"Let me tell you the secret that has led me to my goal. My strength lies solely in my tenacity. "**_~ Pasteur

* * *

Sherlock held the mobile in shaky hands as Harry helped him along. Mycroft answered immediately. "Sherlock?" A strained voice asked.

"Yes. How close are you?" Sherlock whispered breathlessly as they passed into the first corridor.

"Very close, the agents have spread out and are searching the buildings in the area that your signal is in." Mycroft sounded a little breathy as if he was moving. "You're hurt." Mycroft added as a matter of fact.

"A bit," Sherlock said as he grunted from the pain. John pushed him and his sister into a small closet like space. John shielded them both with his body. Unfortunately, there was no door. They were only partially hidden. John suddenly leaned back as far as he could go. The popping sound of gunfire filled the small space.

"Third building, north east side. Hurry Mycroft." Sherlock was about to disconnect. Mycroft's voice stopped him.

"Sherlock Holmes, we will have a talk when this is over." Mycroft said sternly. "Stay alive you idiot."

"Yes brother dear." Sherlock smiled at Mycroft's annoyance despite the situation. Sherlock disconnected. He did not know why he was reluctant to do so.

"Can you lower me?" Sherlock whispered to Harry. She nodded. They both struggled as Sherlock caught his body weight as he was dropped slightly.

"Sorry," Harry surprised them both with a second apology.

Why not, Sherlock thought, "You did fine." He said as he put a smile on his face.

"What are you doing?" John whispered even though he knew the answer.

Sherlock pushed himself against the wall opposite John in the tiny enclosure that they were in.

"By the number of gunfire sound and the rapidity that the bullets are being shot, it is obviously more than the two men we thought were originally left here. The next logical move is to try to sneak around to the back. Really John." Sherlock was too tired to roll his eyes, or he would have.

John did not argue, as usual he was irritatingly correct. Harry looked wordlessly at her brother and Holmes. They seemed to work like a seamless pair. It was difficult to tell where one began and the other one ended. She saw a side of her brother that she had not taken the time to notice before. Is this what her brother's and the man's life consisted of? Are gunfights and a little torture an everyday occurrence? Still, she admitted begrudgingly. They seem to be good for each other. She molded herself to the back wall and remained quiet with her thoughts.

"Someone is starting to feel better." John smiled. He glanced at Sherlock. "Push your body back Sherlock. You're out too far and you cannot move quickly."

"Yes mother." Sherlock said as he bit his lips to keep from crying out from the pain as he pushed himself back a bit.

John shot quickly as the sound of flesh being struck and a yelp of pain was heard.

"Very good John." Sherlock said breathlessly.

John could tell that Sherlock was fading. He allowed himself to frown now that his back was turned to Sherlock. It was lucky that the poison he took was slow acting. John realized with relief that he was not feeling any effect from the poison yet.

There was a moment of silence.

"Mycroft should be only minutes away," Sherlock, said with a ragged whisper. John knew that he was talking to him as well as encouraging himself.

"That simplify our plan Sherlock." John said in-between firing. "We just have to stay alive long enough to be rescued." John said seriously. The corner of Sherlock's lip curved up into a smile. It left suddenly.

"John," Sherlock blinked quickly to clear his eyes as he straightened his shaking arms.

"I see them," John said.

The space exploded with sound. The popping sound of gunfire against the rattle of an automatic weapon doubled the volume of noise. The gunfight suddenly became more serious. White sparks and flashes of light lit the area violently.

New sounds were heard seconds later as over twenty agents flooded the space. The violent flashes of light increased.

* * *

Mycroft's wrath had arrived. Thomas was currently leading the agents into the building in a rescue mission. Mycroft looked on with Anthea standing beside him. The two, along with a few other staff, remained outside. Mycroft leaned against his umbrella as he thought deeply.

Ten other agents were scattered securing the area.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as one word came to mind. "Mr. Moriarty." He whispered.

The blinking red lights that had been scattered throughout the building went to a solid red now.

* * *

Numbers and codes had just been entered on a mobile and pressed.

He now made a call, "Yes, I need to replace nine of my men." Moriarty said in a bored tone. "Within two days. No excuses. How hard can it be to sneak into a country, I'm here am I not." Moriarty hung up. "Surrounded by idiots," Moriarty whispered.

He smiled as he closed his laptop. Moriarty sat back in his Chichester chair and sipped at his tea. Quite entertaining, he had not been bored once during the last half of an hour. Moreover, to think, the evening was just beginning. He chuckled out loud to himself.

He blew on the slightly too hot beverage. He took another sip of the somewhat bitter liquid. He liked his tea a little bitter. It reminded him of life.

He smirked to himself. He pushed a button and a picture of Holmes popped up as a screen saver. He would never allow anyone to see it except Sebastian. He would pretend to forget to shut down his computer and leave it on. It would drive the man crazy. He rolled his eyes. Ordinary people were so obvious. It was amusing when they tried to be clever. Sebastian thought that he had so many secrets when the truth was that he had none. He thought of killing him slowly.

Moriarty took a sip of tea.

Very, very slowly.

Another sip.

Excruciatingly and unpleasantly, slow.

He first thought of killing the moron when he realized what he tried to do to Ben. He was going to kill him after he watched the video of the event, of course.

But, Seb did not succeed and Sebastian was amusing at times, the idiot. Maybe Sabastian was his pet. Sherlock got to have a pet, why not him. He sometimes wondered why he let Sebastian get away with some much.

He took another sip of tea, the temperature was perfect now.

The scar on Sebastian Moran's face was a constant reminder to the idiot that Ben was dangerous when underestimated. Jim smiled.

Sherlock was **his** plaything.

He glanced at his watch. That's a good amount of time to recover, isn't it? Moriarty's picked up his mobile as he put the tea down and leaned back. The line rang for a while. He bounced his leg happily, as he waited with uncharacteristic patience. The mobile line finally connected. Moriarty smiled, took a deep breath, and spoke.

* * *

A/N: I re-wrote quickly so if I made any major mistakes please let me know. As always Lots of Love. :)

Comments please.

Tuesday.

:)


	80. Chapter 80

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 80

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

MapleleafCameo (I am glad that it is still interesting :) ), eohippus, (Thank for the multiple post. Mr. Moriarty does have some bad memories. ), Danishprince ( I am glad that Sunday was relaxing. I hope Tuesday is exciting.), Natalia (Thanks for your comments and questions. BTW. I was unable to PM you, but I appreciate you :) ), Catie501 (Thank for the multiple post. Vials, containers, game and choices. I'll say MORE than a bit not good.), Esstell ( Tuesday is coming. Soon, I promise. :) ), gemstone1234 ( I am happy to hear that the last chapters was not disappointing.), Puky2012 (Thanks for the multiple post. I agree that Moran is Moriarty's pet. The words roof-roof, comes to mind.), , ShiverandShamy (Thanks for the review. Scary ahead?), hJohn302 ( Stop holding your breath… BREATHE!), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. Maybe, you should keep your shock blanket close?), Voldemort101 (Thanks. About the other matter. We weep together.), cim902 (Here is more. Tuesday is here.), briongloid fiodoir (Thanks love. I hope that you are well.)

Thank you ; Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippus , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, (Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , Danishprince, EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence.****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game…

Note:

1. _**Addio**_ is translated to _**Goodbye**_

_**2. HepLock, Heparin lock, Saline lock. (These are the most popular terms that I found in most countries and mean the same thing) **_It is a plastic catheter that is inserted into the vein and left there temporarily so that fluids can be given to sick or dehydrated persons. The advantage it that a **top** or **cap** can be put on the end of it, when fluids (IV) are not needed so that the person can move about freely. I will look up terms in several different countries. I use the term HepLock in the story.

**_*I know I said one, but here are three chapters. I hope that you enjoy._**

To my other family, stay safe.

_Love and coffee, Zacha_

* * *

_**"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear."**_~ Mark Twain

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

"John," Sherlock blinked quickly to clear his eyes as he straightened his shaking arms.

"I see them," John said.

The space exploded with sound. The popping sound of gunfire against the rattle of an automatic weapon doubled the volume of noise.

The gunfight suddenly became more serious. White sparks and flashes of light lit the area violently.

New sounds were heard seconds later as over twenty agents flooded the space. The violent flashes of light increased.

The sound of metal piercing flesh, and random yelps of pain joined the already diverse mix of noise and sound. Despite the near deafening volume, the startled gasp of Harry Watson, as her mouth opened and eyes widened, seemed to reverberate in the space.

John's gunfire discharged three bullets in rapid succession. The pop, pop, pop sound, as the air pushed the bullets from the chamber, was followed by the loud thud of a body falling without cushion, to the unforgiving concrete floor.

Almost immediately, another guard came up behind both John and Sherlock. John did not notice because he had his back turned as he helped Sherlock to hold back a sudden rush of the remaining guards who were not shot.

"Behind," Harry said in a rushed speech. A split second glance between John and Sherlock and they both knew what they would do. John continued to shoot at the guards coming at them. Sherlock started to turn when a pop sound was heard. It came from the left side of his head.

Another thud sound was heard as a body practically fell on top of Sherlock. Harry to her credit, gasp again but did not yell.

A familiar outline of a man became clearer as he stepped closer.

"Thomas" Sherlock said with relief.

The gunfire was growing less intense now.

"Stay here while the last of Moriarty's men are dealt with." Thomas instructed as another two agents crowded into the small space. Their bodies shielded the three persons behind them. Sherlock put his trembling hands down. John wordlessly took his gun. Holmes closed his eyes briefly.

The two agents had their guns drawn and ready to discharge, but the shooting seemed to be sporadic and farther away now. They still stayed alert. Periodically, Thomas would speak into his headset.

After a few minutes, more, only random gunfire was heard. John helped Sherlock to move back more so that he could lean against the wall. He hissed from the pain. Sherlock's eyes blinked rapidly to focus. Sherlock then looked Thomas up and down as if examining him.

"It's a little soon for bruised ribs to heal Thomas." Sherlock asked with concern.

"In your famous words Mr. Holmes, I'm fine." Thomas seemed to get pleasure repeating the words that he had always found annoying.

Thomas looked the woman, Doctor Watson, and Holmes over. His eyes stopped at Holmes.

"Mr. Holmes?" Thomas began to ask.

"I'm…" Everyone waited for him to say fine. He instead said, "Functional." Sherlock looked at John who had opened a mouth. He thought better and closed it again.

"Thanks for not shooting me this time," Thomas said with his mouth turned up into a smile.

"I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?" Sherlock asked with a moan.

Thomas smiled but did not answer. "It's a good thing that you knew that I had on the bulletproof vest."

It was Sherlock's turn not to answer. Suddenly, Thomas' earphone chimed once. He pushed the side button to answer it.

A brief conversation took place. John and Harry were already helping Sherlock up. The two agents changed places with John and Harry. Their goal was to get out quickly, even if they had to carry Holmes.

One agent put an arm under Holmes left shoulder, the other under the right and they pulled. Thomas and John took their guns out and pointed.

Stay close Ms. Watson, Thomas said. She nodded as they started to move. They slowly made their way down the corridors and then finally out the building. Agents outside had weapons trained in the direction of the running group. Holmes was practically carried as they moved quickly.

The group was deposited behind the barricade of cars.

* * *

Thomas activated his earphone and made a call. The other phone line was answered. "Mr. Holmes, your brother is cleared from the building."

The other line was silent for a moment. "How does he appear?" Mycroft asked.

Thomas took a moment before he answered. He looked at Holmes who despite having his eyes closed, threatened anyone who came within a yard of him. He had insisted that they care for Watson and his sister instead.

Watson was arguing back with Sherlock. Ms. Watson just seemed to be randomly rattling. Thomas thought he heard the woman say something about the need for a proper bottle of wine. Watson now turned his attention and voice volume to her.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Quite a bit of drama is taking place, Sir. Your brother is refusing medical care per usual. Watson is trying to influence the matter. Stand by Sir."

The medic was about to administer a strong medication to Watson to slow down the spread of the poison. It was very harsh on the body but necessary.

Sherlock suddenly raised his voice. "Don't give him anything but fluids. Nothing! Is that understood?" He had somehow found the strength to stagger the short distance to John. His hands had a death grip on the wrist of the medic with the needle in her hand. "Is that clear?" Sherlock repeated. Despite the slight sway, and his weakening voice, he was an imposing enough figure to make her immediately put the injection down.

Everyone was suddenly quiet.

Sherlock smirked. It was unclear whom he was addressing, "Do you really think that a Master Criminal would make it that easy." Sherlock swayed more as the short burst of adrenaline was gone.

Thomas ran over to Holmes as another medic managed to catch the Consultant Detective. Holmes blinked a few times and shook his head. This earned him a grimace as pain radiated from his head to neck. Sherlock's eyes roamed around the group that was intently watching him silently. His eyes came to rest on the medic that was holding him.

Sherlock looked at the medic and said. "I hope you know that this does not mean that we are friends. Try to put anything in or on me and I **will** return the favor." Sherlock put on a sugary sweet smile.

The medic quickly took his hands off Holmes after helping him to sit on the edge of one of the three trolleys that materialized behind the men and Harry.

The medics looked at Doctor Watson for confirmation that that was what he wanted.

"Do exactly as he says," John said to the medic as he looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock nodded so slightly that if one were not looking it would have been missed.

The activity and voices increased again.

Thomas disconnected the line before looking to his right. "Sir."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock. He wanted to rush to him but adjusted his behavior based on the fact that two years ago he would have to give his brother time to vent and be a terror.

Thomas turned to Mycroft and said, "Doctor Watson had apparently been poisoned. Slow acting. Holmes started to give us a list of additives that he tasted in the poison. Two are unknown." Thomas texted some keys quickly and pushed send. The information was quickly transferred to Anthea, Mycroft, and Agent Burks. Burks was the chemist working on their own version of an antidote. They however knew that time was against them.

* * *

_**"My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends It gives**_ _**a lovely light."**_~ _Edna St. Vincent Millay_

* * *

It was dark now, which was in and of itself not necessarily odd. The odd thing was that it had just been daylight a second ago. It was a second ago, wasn't it. Not exactly daylight but early evening.

He did remember that much at least, didn't he? Disjointed memories came to him.

_Window… Cloudy skies… Sun low in the sky… Warm coffee… Now, cold coffee… Asleep at his desk - Again… Walking… Pain… Dark… Dark._

He tried to concentrate. Thoughts came to his mind. The thoughts seemed to be swimming as if in thick taffy, still those thoughts managed to finally fight their way into his conscious mind. The wool of mind fog cleared, but only slightly.

Home.

It was home that he was trying to go to, wasn't it?

Yes. It was to the flat.

Probably.

No, definitely. It was the flat.

He could remember all this but still could not work out what day it was. It was Wednesday, definitely Wednesday. Well, maybe, Thursday… Friday at the very latest.

Yes.

Now he remembered; it was Friday.

The day of the week still did not explain a few things.

It did not explain the sensations that he felt. What was the sensation? It was in the back of his mind.

Think… Think.

Cold.

Something was cold. What was cold? His body.

He just had to think. He had worked out that it was Friday, that was progress, wasn't it.

It was Friday.

Being Friday did not explain why he felt his body pressed against a cold surface. He was fairly sure of this because he felt the shaking. Yes, he was sure that it was cold. He was also fairly sure that something wet was on the left side of his face. Now that he thought further, several places on his body was wet as well. Those places were even colder than everywhere else on his person. He was still puzzled by the fact that it was dark.

Noises came to him now. The noises did not make sense.

Concentrate.

He had to concentrate.

Why was it so hard to concentrate?

Nausea rolled inside of him. He was supposed to do something important.

Turn.

He had to turn. It was probably critical.

He tried to roll over, but couldn't move. Was he doing it wrong? He felt something pressing into him, forcing him, pushing him toward the cold. Something was moving his body. Bad idea noise. The nausea increased. What was pressing him? Hands. Maybe, it was hands. The pressure increased now.

The noises came again. He concentrated.

"… Hold him… Fighting…. Starting to wake…," the noise said.

He stopped concentrating. It was making his head hurt more. His head was hurting. He was proud of himself for figuring out that fact.

He should probably say something to the noise. He had to concentrate. He had to say something.

_I think I am going to vomit, roll me over please, noise._

"… Did he groan… He looks green… Better turn him…," the noise said.

Not what he wanted to say but close enough.

There was a violent shift then a different kind of pressure. He did not feel like vomiting any longer.

He thought about the strange darkness again. He realized that it was pulling him deeply into itself. As the noise faded along with his mottled thoughts, he realized that he did not have the will or energy to resist its pull.


	81. Chapter 81

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 81

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence.****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game…

Note: _**Addio**_ is translated to _**Goodbye**_

To my other family, stay safe.

* * *

_**"Fear cannot take what you do not give it**_." ~Christopher Coan

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Harry was on her way to the hospital for observations, with Mycroft's men beside her. She had told them that she was fine, and all she needed was a few stitches to her hairline and a good haircut.

John could not help the smile. That was Harry. His smile vanished as he looked to his left.

Sherlock sat back with the dreaded orange shock blanket over him. He surprisingly had allowed the medics to help him into the back of the ambulance. It was obvious that Holmes had just been resting, and had no intentions of going to the hospital, but wanted to stay by John's side. John lay on the trolley with a liter of IV fluids and an IV HepLock inserted into his left arm. His eyes were closed but John was not fooled. He was simply shutting the world out. He had refused treatment or even a heart monitor. He did take water and the blanket however.

John had been chattering on about something. He probably should say something now, Holmes thought. The appropriate time had passed that John would realize that he had stopped listening fifteen minutes ago. Sherlock sighed. John's voice floated toward him.

"… Sherlock, you have been, knocked about, and electrocuted. You need a hospital. We have the antidote. We don't need the code, we can just pry open the box."

"I know John, I was there!" Sherlock's rough voice responded with irritation. Sherlock closed his eyes and took a moment to take a few deep breaths. He now opened his eyes and focused on John.

"John…" Sherlock took the small silver box out of John's hands. "Look at the box, really look."

The tiny container had not left their side. Sherlock had not even allowed an agent to take it.

John frowned and looked at the tiny box. He took it back from Sherlock's hands. It was a rectangular shaped silver box that looked almost like a mini lock box. The front had a locked hinge door, with what appeared to be a panel with numbered buttons that ranged from zero through the number nine. Seven of the buttons had different colors. Three were colored white. John frowned as he noticed four different colored wires almost perfectly hidden that ran briefly out the box, to the corner and back into the box again. He had not noticed them before.

John looked at Sherlock.

"Smell it John," Sherlock said with a gentle voice.

John did. Something was pulling at the back of his mind. Something familiar. John closed his eyes and smelled it again, thinking.

_Sand… Unrelenting sun… Sun damaged dry skin… Heat so hot that it could be tasted… Words spoken in__ Pashto… Sometimes, words spoken in __Dari__ Persian… Children smiling and playing… Him smiling… Children with unseeing eyes… His smile gone… Heart racing… Falling to the ground for cover… Gunfire, explosions, and women screaming._

Explosions.

John's eyes flew open.

_Shit._

John wondered if he thought the word or said it.

"Indeed," Sherlock responded.

He had said it.

"I was rather hoping that you proved me wrong John, just this once," Sherlock's mouth corner turned up into a tired smile. "I'm sure it would have made your day."

"It's what you think it is Sherlock." John had been already deep in thought.

"A small amount of explosive. The four wires indicate some sort of radio signal. It is probably activated by cell phone, or if an incorrect code is entered." Sherlock thought. "We could find a way to block the radio signal, a bit risky but doable. To work out the code is near impossible in such a short period of time without more data. If we try to open it, the small explosion destroys the vial with the antidote."

Sherlock smirked with irritation. "Elegant."

Sherlock dry wiped his face. John looked on worriedly. It was not like Sherlock to display his frustration so openly. It was as if his defenses were down. They both ignored the fact that even though The Consultant Detective's hands were shaking less, they were shaking. John had to convince Sherlock of the very real need for medical care. John also knew that as long as his life was in danger, Sherlock would not rest. If it was a reversal of roles, John knew that he would do the same.

"I need to think more… formulate a plan… my mind is too mottled." Sherlock felt a slight wave of nausea that quickly retreated. He frowned. Sherlock grimaced as he threw off the shock blanket and climbed out of the ambulance. He held on tightly to the edge of the ambulance doors as he climbed down.

"Sherlock?" John's alarmed voice questioned.

Sherlock stood with his feet flat on the ground as his body stiffened. He put his hand down quickly. He had forgotten.

"Sherlock, Let me see your hand," John said abruptly. John had already gotten off the trolley and was by Sherlock's side. His intravenous fluids tubing pulled dangerously tight at his hand.

Thoughts raced through Sherlock mind at a diminished but still incredibly fast rate.

_Deny?_

_Distract? _

_Get angry, hope he'll retreat? _

_Lie? _

_This is John, no lies. _

Distract then. "John this is not the time for this. Lie down and be still. I told you before; I am fin… I mean functional." Sherlock added his most condescending glare for good measure.

John raised an eyebrow as he grabbed Sherlock's hand without asking.

"Sherlock, you said that you weren't bitten!"

"**Medic!" **John shouted as he looked at the swollen patch of angry red skin on the back of Sherlock's hand. Sherlock pulled his hand away. John was undeterred. He took three quick seconds to skillfully disconnect and put a cap on his IV HepLock port. John was now free to move around. It was probably too late for some treatments. John's mind raced as he switched into medical mode.

"**THIS** is why I did not tell you John. You're overreacting." Sherlock whined. "I was not bitten!"

"Forty minutes to death is NOT overreacting Sherlock, Whoops, I meant fifteen bloody minutes!"

There were suddenly two Medics around and Mycroft, Thomas, Anthea and two other agents were moving at an alarming pace in his direction.

"Antivenin!" John asked. "Did it arrive yet?" John moved around with an injection to Sherlock sleeve. It would slow down his body processes until the antivenin arrived. John almost saw fear in Sherlock eyes.

"**No John! Wait!**" Sherlock said with one hand in front of his body.

John would normally have ignored him and injected the shot through his clothing if necessary but the look in Sherlock's eyes stopped him.

The eyes and… Fear? Was it a flash of fear?

"What is going on with you two?" Mycroft asked in his most authoritative voice. Only John and Sherlock noted the undercurrent of something else. John believed that it was, concern.

"The antivenin is here Sir, they are running it to us." Thomas said.

"How long," Mycroft asked simply.

"Seven to eight minutes," Thomas said grimly.

"Make it five," Mycroft said.

Thomas took a few steps away and talked on his earphone.

"John, look at my hand. Put the needle down John." Sherlock still eyed the injection warily.

"I **keep** the injection! Give me your bloody hands Sherlock Holmes. **Now**!"

Sherlock quickly complied.

John took Sherlock's outstretched hand. The swelling of the hand seemed to have gotten bigger in that short time. Everyone was stretching their necks to get a good luck at his hand. How humiliating, Sherlock thought. He loved to be the centre of attention when he was making a brilliant deduction, but not for something like this.

"**Talk!"** John said with irritation.

Sherlock sighed. "When I had a grab for the keys, I was grazed. The fang sort of grazed my skin." At the look on several faces, he quickly added. "It did not break the skin John, I promise. You see no fang marks, do you?"

John ignored Sherlock for a moment as he carefully examined his hand. It was odd. There was a small scratch but there were no fang marks, yet, the skin itself acted as if it had somehow gotten the toxins into it.

"I don't like this Sherlock. You're having a very odd reaction. Maybe, you should take the antivenin just as a precaution."

"John that's not necessary, this is just a small inflammatory reaction." Sherlock's voice seemed stressed.

"This is **not **small Sherlock!" John's voice was equally stressed.

"The antivenin is here Sir," Thomas said. Another agent's rapid breathing was heard to the left of them both. Neither man noticed. Their eyes were locked and they had a wordless and private conversation.

_John, do as I ask no matter what. I'll explain later. Trust me._

A moment passed.

_You'd better be right Sherlock, or I will follow and haunt you in the afterlife._

"Doctor Watson?" Mycroft questioned. Mycroft was not even giving Sherlock a choice. He was putting his full confidence in John's decision. If they were going to give the drug, it would have to be now or it would be too late.

"That will not be necessary Mycroft." John said quietly. John looked at the agent in the sweat soaked suit who was still trying to catch his breath. He arrived too quickly to have jogged. He must have run rather quickly.

Mycroft eyes pierced John's eyes for a few seconds. He then looked at Sherlock who frowned but did not look away. His eyes lingered on Sherlock, as he slowly looked him up and down. That had been the closest that John had ever come to witnessing Sherlock near squirm. Sherlock seemed to be having trouble maintaining eye contact. The younger Holmes usually almost dared his brother to deduce him defiantly. John hoped that he had made the correct decision. He glanced at the two brothers. Sherlock was still upright so apparently he did. He would have been feeling the effect now if he had not. John sighed with relief.

"Sorry," John mumbled in the agent's direction. The agent nodded still catching his breath.

Mycroft finally dropped his eyes and walked off already taking out his mobile. Anthea immediately followed. Thomas lingered behind with a frown. The medics returned to treating the other wounded as more ambulances started to leave.

John walked over and silently reached for supplies as he pulled them out of the container with medications.

"Doctor Watson, aren't you supposed to be resting? We have medics." Thomas said. He knew that it was a lost cause.

John smiled at Thomas but said nothing as he pulled out a large plaster and topical medication.

Sherlock watched wordlessly.

John moved in front of Sherlock as he prepared and opened packages. He took Sherlock's hand and frowned as he cleaned it. He took a clean wound dressing and gently patted the moisture away. John spoke for the first time in minutes.

"This is just topical. It stays local. A small amount is absorbed into your capillaries, but it does not enter you systemically. That seems to be your concern. If you don't put something on soon, you're going to scar pretty badly."

Sherlock simply nodded.

John became quiet again as he dressed Sherlock's hand.

"There is something in the medicine for pain as well." There was a brief pause. " It's a good thing that I was not bitten. The antivenin would have saved me from dying from the snakebite, but the ingredients in it would have killed me because of the poison I swallowed from the vials. Either way that I look at it. I would have been dead." John finished Sherlock's hand and let go slowly. "I suppose that that was why Sebastian had you get the keys and not me. The combination of poison and snake bite would have killed me."

"Moriarty would have been angry if he killed us off too quickly." John asked Sherlock while looking away thinking. "Is there anything you want to tell me Sherlock? Anything that I should know?"

"Not at this time John," Sherlock said quietly.

John looked at Sherlock.

"What now." John said simply.

"This is not over John. There's more…" Sherlock mouth parted as he suddenly stopped talking. He raised his eyebrows and blinked a few times.

"Sherlock?" John said breathlessly.

"Mr. Holmes?" Thomas joined John.

Sherlock's face became incredibly pale. He blinked as he tried to grab John's shoulder to steady himself.

"Joh…" Sherlock started to say as his world tilted and dimmed to gray then…

Black.


	82. Chapter 82

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 82

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence.****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game…

Note: _**Addio**_ is translated to _**Goodbye**_

To my other family, stay safe.

* * *

"_**There has to be evil so that good can prove its purity above it**_." ~ Buddha

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

"Sir, you have a call." One of the men in his car informed Moran.

Music played softly in the small compact vehicle. A small smile was still on Sebastian's face as he thought about how entertaining the evening had turned out. He was not even annoyed any longer that he could not drive in his Mercedes-Benz as he had grown accustomed to.

Mycroft Holmes was more than a formidable opponent, he thought. From what was reported to him, he had retreated just in time.

He sighed contently as he easily sat up from his seat and stretched his long fingers. They reached inside of his suit to withdraw the mobile phone. He then turned to glance out the car window as London's traffic passed by in rhythmic shifts of images and light.

"Is everything prepared?" He asked with the smallest of smiles. His smile widened as he listened more.

"Proceed," He said simply before disconnecting the call without saying goodbye.

Sebastian Moran sent off a hurried text and sat back, relaxing. It was a very good evening. It would be an even better night.

* * *

"_**The true test of character is not how much we know how to do, but how we behave when we don't know what to do**_."~ _John W. Holt, Jr__._

* * *

Sherlock came out of his mind palace. John did not notice that he had been there for the last ten minutes as he thought and tried to predict the game. None of his theories made him happy. Sherlock sat defiantly across from the trolley that John laid in. He, once '_awake'_ again, had refused to acknowledge that he fainted. He stiffly moved off the trolley and sat on the side after ripping out the IV and taking off the oxygen mask. He still was shaking slightly. Sherlock thought the shaking would have worn off by now. They were both annoying and embarrassing. He decided to ignore the tremors.

The _conversation_ with a very cross Mycroft, had been the only thing, which begrudgingly kept the younger Holmes from trying to make his way out of there unnoticed. Sherlock had to admit that unnoticed was an ambitious notion in his current state. He also had to admit that he did not want to leave John, even though John would be safer that way. Nothing would have stopped him in the past but now, he hesitated. Besides, John would be cross, and the man did own a gun.

All things considered, John did not feel bad apart from a few fresh bruises. John allowed the fact that Sherlock's eyes were closed to give him the freedom to closely examine the man. He frowned as he looked at his pale-skinned flatmate. Dark bruises marred the face, neck, and parts of his upper chest that peeked through his dress shirt. From what John witness done to Sherlock by the four men, he had no doubt that the rest of his body looked the same or worse.

He was bruised again with a split lip. There were scattered and small amounts of blood, not too much this time. His hair and clothing indicated a struggle. He was obviously in a lot of pain and being stubborn about it as per usual. He refused anything for pain. John was drawn to his eyes. His eyes held a strange sort of weariness. A fine tremor ran through Sherlock's body continuously. Dark circles were starting to form under them as well. For some reason the two latter pieces of body signs bothered John more than any other details.

The eyes.

He needed to be examined. He looked at his flatmate. His eyes were still closed. John steeled himself and opened his mouth.

"No," Sherlock said before John spoke. John frowned. Sherlock eyes were still closed.

"You need to be examined. Treated."

"The game is not finished John."

"I don't care about the sodding game. Get examined." John thought and tried the sympathetic approach. "You wouldn't want me upset with all this poison coursing through my body, would you?"

Sherlock frowned at John's words.

"Open your eyes Sherlock, talk to me," John said gently.

Sherlock opened his eyes and blinked a few times as he seemed to be trying to focus. He looked at John.

"I would feel better if I knew that you were OK. Your body has been through a lot Sherlock." John hated to play dirty, but he felt that this was important. John gave Sherlock his most sorrowful look. The look that usually got his way with Sherlock. "Please mate."

Sherlock frown before saying, "Are we using the look, John."

"It depends, is it working?"

"Perhaps," Sherlock bit his lips as he looked at John.

"John, don't worry, I am going to the hospital with you, but only briefly, and only for some specific medical care." There was a brief pause.

"Um… John… There is something that you should probably know." Sherlock hesitated, John noticed. Sherlock hesitating was never a good thing.

"Go on Sherlock."

Sherlock opened and closed his eyes. He sighed and looked at John.

"John… I…" Sherlock was interrupted by the ringing of his mobile.

Sherlock took his shaking hands and pulled out his mobile. He looked straight ahead and let the mobile ring.

"Sherlock?" John asked as he lifted himself to his elbows on the trolley. Sherlock did not answer but his eyes shifted to his mobile as one long finger pressed a little more firmly than needed on the keypad.

"Yes," Sherlock said with a voice void of emotion.

"Hello Sexy. Have we learned anything yet?" Moriarty's cheerful voice asked.

"You call me Ben, You call me Benedict, and you call me Sexy, everything but my name. What will you call me next?" Sherlock asked with irritation.

"How about dead?"

"Not one of my favorites." Sherlock said evenly.

Moriarty started to laugh. "Just joking. Someone's a bit irritable."

"I can't imagine why I would be irritable. It's been such a lovely day." Sherlock said dryly. He locked eyes with John who nodded. He noticed John on his mobile speaking in a whispered tone. Mycroft and Anthea were at a distance but quickly moving in their direction.

"You gave us a locked box with the antidote. Care to tell us the combination Moriarty?"

"So I am Moriarty now. We've bonded at the mansion, or, don't you remember? You were semiconscious , quite out of it those first two weeks. Jim is more appropriate for such very good friends, don't you think." Moriarty's smile could almost be heard.

"Still there… **SHERLOCK**!" Moriarty shouted after a moment of silence.

"Yes," Sherlock said. He sounded almost bored.

"You're very quiet."

"Because I'm bored with this conversation. We were discussing the code for the locked box with the antidote JIM, do focus."

Mycroft and the several agents with equipment looked strangely at Sherlock. John looked as if Sherlock had finally lost his senses.

There was silence on the other line for a minute. Sherlock began to wonder if his tactic for dealing with Moriarty had been faulty. Then, suddenly Moriarty burst out laughing a full deep and rich laugh.

"You're definitely irritable. You do know that it is your fault. I wanted to play with your pet a little for blowing my house up. I would have returned him to you whole." Moriarty giggled. "Well mostly. You're the one who had to do the noble thing… Noble Is Boring!"

Moriarty's voice was suddenly not playful or manic but all business. "Chess is an interesting game, is it not. All the pieces of the game have a symbolic meaning. Let's take the rook for example. It is an intriguing and powerful chess piece. The way it moves across the chessboard. A rook is the only piece that can save another piece, the most important piece, the king. It is called castling."

There was a brief pause and noises in the background.

"Unfortunately, when the rook saves the king, the cost may be that the rook is lost." Moriarty sighed with fake sadness.

The game always starts with **two** rooks. One in each of the corners of the board. Two rooks Sherlock. Did you misplace one of your rooks. Do you have a missing pet?" Moriarty wondered aloud.

Sherlock stiffened but said nothing at first. He noticed Mycroft picked up his mobile. It was such a small movement, everyone else would have missed it, but Sherlock did not. It was only the slightest shift in Mycroft's shoulders. It was the equivalent of someone else flinching. Mycroft caught his brother's eyes briefly before turning away. Agents started moving quickly. Sherlock eyes shifted to John's intense gaze.

"Oh well, just thinking out loud." Moriarty said with deadly seriousness.

Sherlock thought about the best way to approach what he knew was coming. "Where." He finally asked.

"Look at your text." Moriarty said evenly. "Another choice Sherlock. Are you the king, or are you the rook? Are you the master, or are you the pet?" There was another pause. "You need to learn who you are. The ordinary masses don't matter, we do. You belong with me Sherlock. These lessons are for your good, you'll thank me later. You and I are gods."

"Gods don't bleed. You and I bleed Jim." Sherlock was walking slowly as he tested his balance. It was better but still off. Mycroft, Anthea, John and Thomas were by his side.

"You're the one who bleeds Sherlock." Moriarty chuckled. "Addio." The line disconnected.

Sherlock disconnected the call and looked at his brother. Mycroft had managed to move close to his brother quickly. "Don't let John out of your sight Mycroft. Take care of him personally." Sherlock looked intently into Mycroft's eyes.

"Of course," was Mycroft's simple reply. "I should stop you, Sherlock."

"But, you won't." Sherlock said.

"What's the point. You'll just find a way to sneak off. It appears that you have a talent for it." Mycroft mouth turned into a smile.

"Thomas," Mycroft negotiated.

Sherlock nodded then turned to John. "John I'll be back shortly." Sherlock hesitated then put a hand on John's shoulder and squeezed slightly.

He turned away then and walked away without looking back. Thomas talked briefly with Mycroft and then jogged to catch up to the younger Holmes.

Mycroft looked at his brother's retreating form. John pulled out his HepLock and pressed a dressing to his arm to stop the blood from coming out. Mycroft frowned. "I should stop you as well John."

"He needs me," John said simply as he worked quickly.

"You've learned his bad habits," Mycroft said tiredly. John smiled without slowing down his movements.

Sherlock relented and allowed Thomas to help him into the black Mercedes-Benz. He closed his eyes. The door open and closed quickly. "You should be with Mycroft," Sherlock said without opening his eyes.

"We're stronger together than we are apart," John said simply.

Sherlock felt something strange pull at his chest. It was probably something sentimental. He opened his eyes and looked at John. Thomas started to drive to the address that the text indicated.

"I suppose that we are John." Sherlock said with a rough voice. He was silent for a moment.

"Box with antidote?" Sherlock asked.

"Pocket," John said with a smile. Sherlock nodded.

"Rest Sherlock, I'll let you know when we get there." John looked at Sherlock with concern. Sherlock nodded again and closed his eyes. John looked out the window as he thought. The beautiful colors of the setting sun's light, reflected off of the darken motorcar windows.

The Mercedes disappeared as it easily blended into the busy evening traffic.

* * *

A/N: I know I said one, but I wanted to give a little more. Three chapters. I hope that you enjoyed it.

Lots of Love. Zacha


	83. Chapter 83

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 83

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Socalrose, (Thanks for the multiple post. Here, it is ), bruderlein (Thank you so much. Enjoy :)), MapleleafCameo (Here are a few more chapters.), Puky2012 (Thank for the multiple post. Was he right not to trust Moriarty?) Prothoe ( I hope that you are functional today.) Danishprince(Thanks for your kind words.), gemstone1234 ( I hope that I make your day again.) Catie501, (I hope that you are well, sorry for the delay.) Voldemort101, (I hope that you are well.)

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Notes:

*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game…

*Although I try to be accurate slight creative license with some locations.

Busy times ahead for me so I wanted to get these to you.

1. I wrote several chapters so read all at once

Or

2. Section out the chapters until the weekend

Make yourself happy. Those on holiday, be safe.

* * *

**_"The natural flights of the human mind are not from pleasure to pleasure but from hope to hope." ~ _**Johnson, Samuel

* * *

The Soho area was still busy with activities. The streets still had some activity even though the sun had set and the stores were closing. They were in the centre of London. They were in Chinatown as local and tourist alike knew it. Chinese restaurants and shops lined blocks of streets along with a few Japanese restaurants that were on the very edge of the small community.

An eclectic, and diverse mix of architectural building styles varied as widely as the blend of the bodies that walked about. Some appeared colorful with Chinese writing, ornate golden phoenix, or dragons, decorating the front and sides of the buildings; some were simple structures with hand written signs in the windows and ducks hanging, others were of plain and conservative design with lettering in English. There were young and old, many who appeared to be of Asian heritage with a good amount of other races, and tourist of every nationality mixed in.

The human race.

A young, smiling couple on holiday from Senegal walked briskly as they held hands laughing. The newlyweds kissed each other quickly on the cheek as their happiness enveloped them. They blended in, and then disappeared in the masses of humanity who were unaware of the drama that was unfolding before their eyes.

The Mercedes Benz continued to drive until it came to the older area that was on the very edge of the community. There were not the decreasing crowds that were located earlier in the drive. While driving, the crowds seemed to decrease then dissipate until now, only a few brave souls walked quickly and with purpose. The increased chill of the cool night air motivated their steps to quicken. The earlier vibrant energy was replaced by a dull and an odd sort of quiet stillness that warned of imminent danger.

The vehicle slowed then stopped as it pulled into an open space at the curb of the road. John looked at Sherlock. His eyes had only opened briefly during the entire trip. By the rolling of his eyes under closed lids and the discreet synchronized hand movements, John knew that he was in his mind palace. John frowned. He looked at his flatmate's closed eyes. Was it his imagination or were the circles under his friend's eyes even darker now. John inhaled a breath to speak, but was interrupted by Sherlock.

"John, you really should not frown." Sherlock still had his eyes closed.

"How did…" John stopped himself. This was Sherlock after all. He chose a long sigh instead. Thomas frowned and looked at John who wordlessly looked back into Thomas' eyes before they both turned their attention back to Sherlock. John glanced at his watch. They had arrived early. Thomas spoke on his mobile, presumably to Mycroft, before putting his mobile phone away and putting an earpiece in. He seemed to be debating with himself before the agent came to a decision and turned the engine off. The motorcar was quickly immersed in darkness. The light of a half moon as it peeked in and out of the clouds cast eerie shadows and glows on the three faces.

"It's time." Sherlock announced softly, before suddenly opening his eyes, blinking. He looked around focusing as he allowed his tired eyes to adjust to the dimness. His eyes fell to their left as he seemed to focus on a shadow.

Sherlock eyes left the shadow and looked upward toward the streetlight. He chuckled once as he said darkly to no one in particular. "Convenient."

The area was darker than anywhere else they had driven. Two broken lamppost gave no light. The immediate area was cast into dimness and dark shadows. Thomas, John, and Sherlock looked quietly. Sherlock eyes fell back on a particular shadow to his right; four other shadows had materialized beside the first. The shadows now moved; they almost seemed to slither along, advancing.

Sherlock started to move, and the other two men followed his movements. John's voice slowed his movements.

"Sherlock, should I take the antidote or leave it?"

Sherlock's mind quickly calculated the risks, possibilities, and probable outcomes. Something inside of Sherlock was fighting against his mind, as it calculated what the best of three terrible options were. He fought against the pull of emotions. His normally near impenetrable guards were weakening, and he could sense this fact. Never the less, he managed to push all emotions back and come to a logical and calculated decision.

"Thomas, you keep it."

"Mr. Holmes," Thomas spoke up, "You don't think that I am going to sit here and allow you to go with them, do you?"

"If I tell you that I need you to not interfere, would you stay?" Sherlock turned toward Thomas' voice.

Thomas snorted before saying. "We both know each other after all these years, don't we?"

"Didn't think so," Sherlock whispered to himself before saying louder. "You're still the strongest right now and the best choice."

John silently handed the tiny silver box over to Thomas who quickly put it inside of his suit pocket. They exited the Mercedes Benz and stood side-by-side, as they waited.

* * *

He sipped on his now cold coffee as he looked out of the motor car's window. He was halfway down the street in an attempt not to attract attention. He waited as he looked up at her lit window.

He saw the woman moving about. If his reports were correct, the female had Doctor Watson take out the rubbish nightly around this time. If he were not present, she would take it out herself. It would be a little later because she moved more slowly. It was really quite foolish to have such a predictable pattern, the man thought to himself.

The scrawny looking man racked his bony fingers through his graying hair. It was his duty to make sure that everything was carried out according to plan. Sometimes his men became too enthusiastic with their work. He might not have their bodies, the skinny man thought, but they did not have his brains.

He took a sip of coffee.

He snickered to himself as a funny joke that a _friend_ told him about people being shot to death, while waiting in a long line for coffee, came to his remembrance. One of the impatient customers had become angry at the long line and said in frustration, "Ah, shoot me!" His friend at that moment had aimed the gun at the stunned man's face, smiled, then shot or wounded everyone in the diner and escaped with the currency. This friend had told the skinny man that it was less than four-hundred pounds, but it had been a lot of fun.

His friend always did have an impulse control problem. Too bad that they caught the idiot. He was arrested three months later.

His laugh became full bellied now as he shook his head amused.

The skinny man would not have been caught. He would have made sure that none was alive to identify him. He was prideful as he straightened his thin frame and thought about how long he had been in the business and survived. He had only been arrested twice, he thought with conceit.

He took another sip of the unpleasant beverage and grimaced slightly as he swallowed the bitter liquid down. His tongue came up to lick his lips. He sighed as he thought about how pleasant it would be to have a hot, fresh cuppa in front of him now. Maybe, later, when this little matter was taken care of. The abnormally skinny man's hand came down on his thigh without thought as it reflectively brushed away the few sticky drops of the brown beverage before it soaked further into his trouser. He had long ago abandoned his suit jacket and tie. They lay forgotten in the back of the vehicle.

He used too much sugar this time, he thought to himself.

The skinny man's hand dry wiped his face as he exhaled noisily releasing a bored breath. He glanced at his watch. His thin, spidery fingers pulled and stretched as it reached on the car seat beside him. He pushed numbered keys and waited for the phone lines to connect. He was becoming more bored as he spoke into his mobile. He had better check on the idiots.

"Are you in position?" He could not tell in the darkened alley. They had arranged for a lamppost to be broken. This made the already shadowy alleyway darker.

"Good." He was about to disconnect when the skinny man thought he saw movement. He smiled amused.


	84. Chapter 84

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 84

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game…

* * *

**_"The course of our lives is not determined by great, awesome decisions. Our direction is set by the little day-to-day choices which chart the track on which we run."_**Gordon B. Hinckley

* * *

"John, no matter what he does to me. Be quiet and do not interfere."

"Like that's going to happen Sherlock. That animal means for an excuse to get you alone. You think that I, that we are just going to stand here?" John hissed humorlessly.

"You have to John," Sherlock said as he watched the group advance warily. "A life depends on it. Maybe several."

"Who," John asked.

"My other rook," Sherlock chanced a quick look at John. "Your sister was not the only one taken tonight, John."

They stared briefly into each others eyes. Sherlock saw the slight widening of John's eyes and the slight parting of his mouth. He knew the moment that understanding came to him. John gave the slightest nod as he glared angrily ahead again.

Thomas remained quiet and still as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He was careful to keep his head and body still as his eyes looked around taking in every threat and possible route of escape. His eyes now returned to the figures in front of them as they emerged from the shadows to enter the dim light.

His hollow predatory eyes were the first to be seen.

"Mr. Holmes," The voice as smooth as silk floated from in front of him. "Still standing I see," an evil snicker sounded loudly in the dim night air, as glowing eyes looked the Consultant Detective up and down. "Barely standing that is."

Holmes said nothing. John glanced at Holmes and noticed that his face was blank. His body was still shaking slightly, but his fine tremors had improved.

"Shouldn't you be running along to a hospital Doctor Watson, I won't try to stop you." Sebastian Moran looked at Thomas. Thomas glared at the man as his balled fist stood by his side. "And, take that unpleasant looking chap with you."

John said nothing but moved closer to Sherlock. Thomas did the same.

Thomas' eyes pierced into the criminal's eyes. A hint of a frown crossed Sebastian's face before he immediately schooled his features. Moran moved his eyes back to Sherlock.

Sebastian, along with four men who appeared to be of Asian descent, surrounded the men. Two additional large men who appeared as if they ate children for dinner hung back in the shadows.

"Mr. Holmes, I need for you to come with me. I am told that you have a choice. Don't worry. I'll return him to you. Alive." Moran said to John. Moran started to smile strangely, as he looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock looked back expressionlessly. Only John noticed the faint, slight twitch that was on the corner of his mouth.

"I want him alive, and the combination for the box with the antidote if I go with you." Sherlock said to Moran. He ignored John's confused look.

"Mr. Holmes goes nowhere without me." Thomas spoke for the first time. His voice was calm, but his hands move loosely to his side and his body tensed.

John said nothing but prepared to reach for his gun.

They both moved even closer to Holmes.

Moran's men moved closer and the two men in the shadows stepped out. Moran held up his hand. His men stopped moving. Moran looked annoyed. His eyes blazed with irritation. "At the end of this little… entertainment, you will be given the opportunity to get the combination." Moran grinned before adding.

"How much is the other rook worth to you, Mr. Holmes?"

"What do I do?" Sherlock asked all business, he did not hesitate.

Moran held up one finger and motioned with it for Sherlock to come close. Sherlock felt John stiffen and glanced at John and Thomas. John exhaled and frowned as he remembered Sherlock's earlier warnings so did not move.

Sherlock walked with slightly off balanced but consistent steps. He stopped just outside of Moran's reach. He said. "This… game is between Moriarty and me. They stay out of it."

Moran was pleased that Sherlock had said Moriarty and not Jim. This was Sherlock's plan.

Sebastian seemed to enjoy the attention. "They can leave now, I will not stop them." Moran hesitated for drama, "But, if they stay any longer, they become part of the game."

Sherlock did not bother to look back. He knew what they would do. He wanted to stall a few more minutes and make Sebastian feel more in control. He knew the next few hours would be unpleasant, but they would be worse if Sebastian knew what he actually wanted to say to him.

Moran looked irritated again. Both men not only did not leave, but instead, stepped closer. Moran looked at them both as he nodded to his men. One of his men moved in front of John, Thomas, and Sherlock to search them for weapons.

Sherlock frowned. This meant that Sebastian thought that they would be tempted to use the weapons early.

As one of Moran's men searched Holmes, Moran came up to him and dismissed him. "This one is clever. I'll search him myself." Moran took over the searching of Sherlock. He reached a hand behind and pulled the gun out of his waistband. "I'll be taking this," he said cheerfully. "You'll get it back later." His hands continued to pat Holmes down slowly. Holmes kept his face blank. Moran threw a kiss to John. John to his credit did not make a sound. The Doctor distracted himself by imagining his hands around the criminal's neck.

"I have no more weapons." Sherlock said evenly.

"Just making sure," Moran said as he finally stepped back.

"Sir," one of the men said nervously as he listened to someone speaking on his headset.

Moran immediately sombered and nodded so that the three men could be blindfolded and hurriedly put into a car.

John and Thomas looked at each other and then focused their attention on Sherlock. The last thing that John saw before the blindfold was put on his eyes, shutting the dimly lit area out, was a blindfolded Sherlock, yards away. He was being led away roughly by Moran.

John tried not to think of the fact that without their weapons, they were completely at the mercy of a mad man's shadow.

* * *

The skinny man looked out of his car window as he observed an older woman leave the building.

"Remember your instructions. When you are finished, leave a note on the body and call 999. He doesn't want her dead yet but have fun." he disconnected the phone call. She walked slowly as if her hip was giving her trouble. Her back was to the alley as she picked up the rubbish bag to lift it to her chest level, so that she could throw it in the bin.

"Need some help?" A young voice behind her asked. She never had a chance to turn around. Her back was still turned to the men as they came out of the shadows. A startled gasp seemed to echo off the brick walls as they stepped from the darkness into the dim. They quickly retreated with her, as she was pulled back into the darkness of the shadows.

* * *

He listened for Sherlock. John was tempted to try to use his shoulder to shift the blindfold from his eyes. He was not sure if this was one of those. _Do not talk or I will shoot you_ moments, but he had to be sure that Sherlock was not alone with Moran.

"I'm here John, and so is Thomas." Sherlock's whispered voice said from behind him. John exhaled noisily. He said nothing in return. Sherlock's voice appeared perfectly calm. John, however, noticed something that no one else would be able to detect, something that perhaps even the Consultant Detective was not ready to admit to himself, Sherlock was stressed. It was the slightest hesitation in his voice, but it was enough.

John sat back and laid his head against the seat of the motorcar. He felt his body shift from left to right as the vehicle changed directions. He closed his eyes behind the blindfolds as he thought. In any other situation, the gentle motion would have been soothing, but not today. The automobile gently bumped and rocked while driving to an unknown location.

* * *

Moriarty glanced at his watch. He pushed in numbers and codes and hit send. A grainy image came on the screen of a computer. He would watch only this time. Probably, he was changeable.

The image became clear now. Moriarty took up his fresh tea and crossed his legs as he sat back to enjoy the game.

Moriarty thought. He picked up his mobile and pushed a button as he spoke. He leaned toward the table to reach for his tea. His mobile phone line was answered on the first ring. Someone in his employ let it ring twice, once. Moriarty was not happy. When the rest of the staff found out what had happened to the staff, they were determined not to make the same mistake.

"Yes. I want some popcorn." Moriarty thought further, "Oh… and those teeny- tiny little sandwiches with the cucumbers. Yum." Moriarty's voice sang.

His voice suddenly dropped all traces of amusement. "I suggest that you hurry." Moriarty disconnected before the staff on the other line answered. He knew that they would do as asked.

He looked down as he blew his breath on the hot tea. He took another sip of the slightly pungent brew. Moriarty glanced up. There was movement on the television screen now. He had the staff transfer the signal from his computer to his flat screen television. He looked at the television as his smile widened. He was not bored, and that was all that mattered. He took another sip as three staff walked briskly in with a small table. They quickly went about as they decorated the table and put the food on it. They were careful not to move in front of his field of vision. They were done and gone within minutes. Moriarty turned up the volume as his strong fingers reached for a sandwich.

Moriarty smiled.

He sighed contently. Everything was so much more entertaining when viewed on a large screen television.


	85. Chapter 85

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 85

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game…

* * *

"**_We cannot stop fear but we can fight against it_**." ~ Grace Freeman

* * *

The blindfolds were finally removed. John blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light of the room. Thomas was standing beside him and already taking the space in. He looked around frowning. Sherlock was taken ahead of them and taken off by himself ten minutes ago. It could not be that large of a building, the walk was short, so Sherlock had to be in the area. He was definitely in the same car with them.

John risked speaking to Thomas in a whispered tone. "I don't like this. Where is Sherlock? And where are we…"

His speech was cut short by Thomas eyes that traveled to the left of the room. Technically, John was now looking at the centre of the room since their bodies were positioned against the side wall. It was a very long yet narrow room. John's eyes followed Thomas, but he did not make a sound. There was not much furniture, and the little that was there was pushed to the side against the long windowless walls with the exception of a long narrow metal desk. There were again three chairs and wires running from the chairs that were similar in setup to the previous location. The man in the chair seemed to be semiconscious. His head rolled then dropped forward, his chin came to rest on his chest. The only reason that he was upright was because he was strapped to the chair by one thick locked band.

John took an involuntary step forward before a hand stopped him. Thomas looked at John. The former soldier evened out his expressions as his face became a blank mask.

John entire stance changed. He was no longer Doctor Watson but Captain John H. Watson. This was no longer a building but a war zone. Thomas noticed the change in the man next to him and caught his eyes. They both prepared for anything.

John closed his eyes as the words came into his mind. _You see, but you don't observe. _

Get out of my head Sherlock, John thought to himself with a ghost of a smile.

John breathed in, he held his breath for a second, He breathed out through his mouth.

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was strapped to the centre chair. Lestrade had several bruises on his face and what could be seen of his body. Several shallow cuts were seen on him. Blood had dried from a wound on the side of his face. Minimal blood loss, John thought. John looked at Moriarty's men. Two of the men had bruised faces. So, Greg had fought back.

Lestrade seemed to be mumbling something incoherent. One part of John was relieved that at least Lestrade was moving and mumbling as opposed to lying still. At least he was alive, for now. Another part of John's insides were in knots. Where was Sherlock?

Where was he?

John forced himself to focus again.

John noticed the wires coming from the wrist of Greg Lestrade. John sighed as his eyes now traveled to the different colored wires. At least there were not three bins to choose from this time. That was a good thing, wasn't it?

John felt a presence to his back. Thomas body stiffened at the same time.

"Missed me?" Sebastian asked next to John's ear as he passed from his back to stand right before him. He dropped something at the foot of John and Thomas. It looked like clothing. Mr. Holmes clothing. Thomas bent down and picked up Holmes coat and dropped it back to the pile. John's eyes never left Sebastian.

"Where is Mr. Holmes?" Thomas asked, "What game is this?" Thomas glared at Sebastian. He never wanted to hit another human being as much as he wanted to hit Sebastian. Moran noticed and smirked before answering.

"He had to nip to the loo. I'm sure he'll be back any minute. Well, he may need two minutes." Sebastian grinned as he circled John. "Three the most…, promise."

Moran gave the slightest movement with his head at a curtained area next to the table that Lestrade was sitting at.

John looked at the curtain. "Thomas," John said quietly as he held Thomas' wrist. Thomas turned in the direction of John's gaze.

Moran's smile suddenly left, as he was all business. He stepped away from the two men as his face took on an almost innocent look. John noticed and wanted to huff. He did not.

"_Hello everybody."_ Moriarty's voice said on the overhead speakers.

No one spoke but instead focused on the curtains.

Cheesy game show music started to play in the background again as the curtain slowly rose. Thomas and John look intently at the area below the curtains. Moriarty's voice came again.

_"Let's begin, shall we."_

* * *

Mycroft, Anthea, and agents walked around Thomas' car as several more agents walked around the area. Thomas had called in their location and requested backup the moment he stopped the motorcar.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he stared straight ahead. He went into his mind as he scrutinized data and thought about the next possible move. He blinked a few times as he looked around as he came out of his mind, thinking. His eyes found Anthea.

"No word on the tracker?" Mycroft asked already knowing the answer.

"No Sir. They must have some kind of blocker. We will not be able to know where they are until the blocker is turned off, or they move far enough away for the signal to come through.

An agent name Burkes ran up to Mycroft and started to speak. "We canvassed the area as well as the flats close by. No new information so far." The agent looked at his notebook. "According to the last place that the signal stopped Sir, we should be twenty-five kilometers from here. Should we start the search in that area?"

Mycroft did not answer immediately. His agent did not dare say another word but waited for an answer.

Mycroft was silent for a moment before finally speaking. Mycroft looked away to his right, a few flats down. He noticed the two broken lamppost. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the lampposts without saying a word.

Anthea's fingers flew across. "Sir, you were right. The CCTV footage in this area was down, within sixty seconds of Doctor Watson, Agent Thomas, and your brother arriving. It returned thirty minutes later."

"Sir." Agent Burkes waited for orders.

"Mr. Burkes, what direction was the last signal received from?"

"Twenty-five kilometers going west, Sir." The agent quickly answered.

He looked at Anthea and asked, "If I follow the CCTV outage what direction do they go in?"

"East, Sir."

"Follow the CCTV outages from Agent Thomas' car; send one car toward the signal as a precaution." Mycroft was already moving. Anthea never stopped looking up information on her Smartphone as she quickened her pace to keep up with Mycroft's long legs. Everyone but two agents followed Mycroft's lead.

"The signal is a decoy. We go east." Mycroft spoke his thoughts.

Several cars quickly turned onto the street and drove at high speeds down the road.

* * *

Sally Donovan was about to leave for the day. DI Lestrade shocked the entire Yard by doing something unheard of. He left at a decent hour to go home. She sighed as she turned her neck to the left then right stretching. She looked at the paperwork and hated to bother him. It was such a rare thing for him to actually get any rest, however, he did say that he wanted to be told when the approval came through.

She eyed the landline on her desk. She picked it up and with only a slight hesitation pushed the keys on the telephone and waited for it to ring. It rang several times before a prerecorded message in Lestrade's voice gave instructions to leave a message.

Donovan frowned and tried again to reach the DI. She had never known Lestrade not to answer a call unless he was in a meeting. Even then, he would let everyone know ahead of time that he would not be able to be reached. He always answered on the second ring and even climbed out of the shower one late night just to answer his mobile.

"Odd, that." Sally whispered to herself. She made a decision and grabbed her coat and handbag swinging it hastily over one shoulder. A frown made its way to her face. She grabbed the paperwork at the last minute. It would be her excuse for making sure that the DI was alright.

"Everything okay?" One of the other officers asked as he observed Sally rushing out the door.

"Yes." She said with a strained smile on her face. "I'll see you in the morning."

Sally walked hurriedly toward the steps. She reached inside of her coat pocket to retrieve her mobile. She wondered if she would even get a signal, as her feet tapped in quick rhythm on the concrete staircase.


	86. Chapter 86

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 86

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game…

* * *

**_ "If you're going through hell, keep going_**." ~Winston Churchill

* * *

Sherlock stood on shaky legs waiting in the darkness. He was cold. The cold air on his bare feet seemed to direct the chilled air to the centre of his bruised body. He would wrap his arms around himself if he could.

He could not.

A violent shiver ran through his body. This caused a grimace as pain followed the same path. He ignored the cold, and the pain the best he could, and tried to concentrate. He could hear Thomas muffled voice and Sebastian. They were talking. He could not tell what they were saying, however.

"_Hello everybody."_Moriarty voice announced cheerfully over the overhead speakers.

The thick velvet curtain that he was hidden behind started to rise slowly. Moriarty's attempt at drama. Sherlock would have rolled his eyes if it were not for his headache.

He blinked his eyes as they adjusted to the small amounts of filtered light again.

Concentrate, Sherlock reminded himself.

He strained his eyes as he peeked through the tiny slits in the curtains. He could see them, but they seemed to not be able to see him yet.

He examined Lestrade with his eyes. He now stared at John and Thomas. He was relieved that they looked unharmed. Moran was… unpredictable. He deduced himself and did not like what he concluded. His self-observations were clinical and detached. He moved on quickly.

He looked at the wires that ran from the table, on the floor, and disappeared into the wall. He noticed them attached to Lestrade. Anger burned in him, but he quickly pushed it down.

"Stay detached," Sherlock whispered to himself only, "Concentrate."

The nausea chose that moment to return again.

Bad timing, he had to think.

He swallowed several times and briefly closed his eyes and stilled his body. After a moment, he opened them again. He wanted nothing more than to get everyone in the room, medical care. As long as they did not force him along to the A/E with them. He might even allow himself to pass out when he knew that they were safe, as long as that occurred in his flat. He would not even yell at John this time if he hovered.

He took another breath. The nausea was not as severe now. Sherlock opened his eyes.

He looked around the room and examined possible escapes. They only had to stay alive. He was sure of one fact. No matter how many times he told Mycroft to _stay out of it_, he was sure that his brother was on his way. It was just a matter of playing the game to win and staying alive until then.

Staying alive should be an easy thing to do, he told himself with humorless mirth.

Sherlock was cold and started to shiver more. He finished examining the room and noticed Moran. He was now reserved and business like. They locked eyes for a moment. Sherlock saw the hint of amusement on Sebastian's face before it went away.

So, he thought that Moriarty was now watching. That was the only thing that explained Moran's sudden lack of excessive cruelty. He had a few more injuries from his time alone with Moran.

Sherlock redirected his thoughts.

Sherlock noticed some of his clothing at Thomas' feet. His eyes went to his beloved coat. He hoped that it would not become soiled. He loved that coat. The younger Holmes sighed and shivered more. There was no heat in the building.

Sherlock looked upward. He was locked in a clear plastic cylinder shaped container. His hands were handcuffed in front of him and secure by chains to his legs. He had his dress trousers and shirt only, but no shoes, socks, jacket, or coat. Judging from the drain and the holes in the side, there was a reasonable possibility that he was about to get wet.

"Better and better," Sherlock said to himself.

A clicking sound made him glance upward. The steady red lights above his head was now blinking in a steady rhythm. Sherlock sighed as the tacky game show music came on.

Moriarty's voice sounded on the overhead speakers.

No one spoke but instead focused on the curtains.

Cheesy game show music continued to play in the background as the curtain slowly rose the last centimeters and stopped. Sherlock was now fully revealed. Thomas and John look intently at the curtains. Moriarty's voice came again.

"_Let's begin shall we."_ Moriarty's voice was slightly loud and echoed in the enclosed tank. Sherlock winced slightly as he stared up.

* * *

Donovan stood outside of Lestrade's home as she rang the doorbell for the third time. She exhaled with frustration as the warmth of her breath mixed with the cold night air and fogged in sympathy. All of her mobile phone calls had gone unanswered.

She frowned now as worry started to run through her in earnest. She picked up her mobile to call the Yard, but an incoming call interrupted her.

"Donovan," She answered in a rush.

"Ms. Donovan, I have an idea of where Lestrade might be. I do not have the exact address now, but I will have it in the next…" There was a brief pause, "Seven to ten minutes." The female voice continued. "Mr. Holmes and two other men might also be in danger."

"Tell me everything you know." Donovan said as she jogged back to her vehicle.

* * *

Moriarty's voice had a casual happy tone. "I'll make this simple for you. I can see that you had a hard day. The answer to release your precious Detective Inspector, The answer to release yourself, and the antidote for your pet are all within your reach…" there was a pause and something that sounded like someone sipping on tea through the intercom.

"… Sorry, but this tea is positively delicious. What is the phrase? Oh, yes… It's simply to die for." There was the sound of another sip taken, followed by the sound of a contented sigh.

"Where were we? Ah yes, three questions, three locked boxes. All three questions are written and locked in the three boxes at the other end. Three keys are on the table. Simply walk, well maybe run, to the other end of the room, open the box of your choice, read the question and answer them."

It sounded as if Moriarty was munching on a sandwich now.

"Sherlock can even help you. If he is able, that is. From what I read in your blog Doctor Watson, he does not even know that the earth goes around the sun; these questions might be a bit out of his area of expertise. The naughty boy deleted the information." Moriarty chuckled at that.

"Rules," John hissed impatiently as he looked from Sherlock to Lestrade.

"Open one box and free that person completely before the other box can be opened, and the next person is freed. The last box to be opened is the antidote. Don't follow the rules and you get shot, blah… blah… blah, blah, blah, blah… blah." Moriarty's voice sounded slightly bored now.

Another sipping sound was heard on the speakers.

"Sherlock you could just walk away now. Let the rooks sacrifice for their king. I'm sure that you can pick up more pets, if you must." Moriarty's said evenly.

"Walk away Sherlock, while you can." Moriarty's voice now changed to one of deadly seriousness. "Make a choice."

Moriarty waited for an answer.

Sherlock feet and ankles suddenly became much colder. The sound of gushing water was heard.

"Lestrade" Sherlock said simply. It was embarrassing how his teeth were starting to chatter. He immediately felt the cold water as it started to fill the water tight tank that he was locked into.

"I'll leave you to it then, have fun," Moriarty's said before the speakers became silent.

Sebastian's grin instantly came back. "I'll be off." He smirked at the two men as he paused. "Oh, by-the-way, in ten minutes a deadly charge of electricity will pass through the DI's body." He looked evilly at his watch. "Whoops, eight minutes now, I forgot to tell you, you can begin. Ta, Ta."

Thomas and John heard Sebastian's voice echo behind them as they ran down to the other end of the long but narrow room.

* * *

Mycroft was pulled to the side of the road as agents canvassed the area. The Yard, officers, ambulances, and a bomb unit were on their way in the general direction.

Mycroft phone rang. He looked at it and frowned."Yes."

"Um, Sir, this is Kevin Patel here. Agent Thomas contacted me earlier today and said that I was to trace a signal and contact you with the address when it comes up. It just came up Sir." The voice of the young analyst said.

"I'll need that address quickly Mr. Patel," Mycroft listened for a moment then agents were running, as cars abruptly left their location.

* * *

The box with the name, pet was opened, and the note with the question was run back down to the other end. All three men ignored the fact that there were three armed men in the room. Everyone else had left.

"The question is," John said loudly so that Sherlock could hear, "What are the main four types of galaxies?"

Everyone including Sherlock was strangely silent for a few seconds. John tried not to think about the fact that the water had reached up to Sherlock's thigh. He also tried not to think about the way that Sherlock's body was shaking. Despite this, the words _early hypothermia_ came to his mind.

"Spiral, Elliptical, Lenticular, and Irregular galaxies." Thomas said quickly.

"You sure?" John asked.

"Yes," Thomas said quickly. "But now what."

Sherlock spoke up now shivering more. "T… There should be a lettered key pad somewhere attached to L… Lestrade. Put the galaxies in alphabetical order.

"**E**lliptical, **I**rregular, **L**enticular, and **S**piral."

"E… I… L… S… then press enter. Hurry." Sherlock said in between chattering teeth.

Thomas and John ran the short distance to Lestrade. "Here," Thomas said when he found a keypad that was attached to the tableside.

John nodded. Thomas quickly entered the E… I… L… S... then he took a breath and pressed enter.

Lights flashed and blinked rapidly for a few second then stopped entirely. There was a popping sound as the wrist restraints opened. Both men quickly unhooked the rest of the attachment as they roughly dragged Lestrade away from the table and wires. They were only a few yards away when the lights dimmed at the same time that a sizzling hum was heard. Both men instinctively covered their faces and Lestrade's face as electrical sparks flew yards away from the wires and the table. It only lasted a minute but left the room with the odor of burnt metal.

Lestrade lay suddenly still on the ground. Both men glanced at each other. John check to make sure that Lestrade was still breathing as Thomas grabbed the second key and ran to the other end of the room.

Thomas returned with the second question as he breathed in and out heavily. It asks, _What makes up white light?" _Thomas looked at both men "I don't remember this one."

"T… The colors of the r… rainbow," Sherlock said.

Both men stared at Sherlock.

"I didn't delete e… everything." Sherlock snapped crossly. "Water rising." He added with chattering teeth.

Both men moved instantly.

"R… Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet." Sherlock said before adding. "In alphabetical order. B-G-I-O-R-V, then enter." Sherlock said as he spit water out of his mouth that got in. The water was passed Sherlock's chin. A clicking sound was heard then water gushed in faster. The water seemed to be filling the tank faster as it gushed in like a waterfall. John entered the letters, he was careful to have them in the right order, despite his shaking hands.

Just like with Lestrade, lights blinked rapidly then became steady.

The three men were preoccupied with getting Sherlock out and never noticed the fact that they were now alone in the room, and a gun battle was taking place. Thomas uttered a soft curse as he tried to help John manually pull the twelve latches open one by one, now that the lock popped open.

The water was passed Sherlock's head now. He was trying to use his legs to push his head above water, but his handcuffed hands were chained to his ankles and gave no room for maneuvering. Sherlock felt his lungs burn as his mind fought against the impulse of his lungs to inhale.

Sherlock finally lost the battle as he inhaled before he realized what had happened. His mind shut down completely as instinct took over and he twisted violently. His previous attempt at calm was forgotten as he tried to escape the watery prison.


	87. Chapter 87

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 87

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. The Game…

* * *

"**_Fortune knocks but once, but misfortune has much more patience_**."

~Author Unknown

* * *

The nondescript car sat several flats down from 221B Baker Street. The skinny man sat in the car as he waited for someone to call him. They had been in the dark for too long. He could not see a thing with the lamppost out. That had been the idea when it was broken earlier.

His mobile ringing startled him a bit. "Too much coffee," he thought.

Moran's voice floated over the other mobile line. "Is the old woman taken care of?"

"Yeah, but I think the lads got carried away again. I had better stop them before they kill her. I know that you just wanted her beaten till unconscious." The tall skinny man sighed. He hated legwork.

"That would be a shame if she died," Sebastian Moran chuckled before he disconnected.

The skinny man sighed more dramatically for the third time as he looked around then exited the car. He alternated between walking briskly and jogging toward the darkness.

* * *

Suddenly Sherlock was falling. The force of the suddenly released water carried him along and knocked John and Thomas off their feet.

Sherlock wheezed, sputtered, and coughed as his world filled with one thing… breathe.

It took a moment before he could speak "T… That… (Cough)… was unpleasant." He was trembling severely.

Agents broke into the room with guns drawn. John squeezed Sherlock shoulder before he got up and returned to Lestrade side. Sherlock frowned as the nausea returned again. He swallowed hard. He knew it was a matter of time. This time it would not go away so easily.

He closed his eyes. He lay wordlessly as someone uncuffed his hands and feet. At least Lestrade was safe. Sherlock looked at Lestrade and frowned.

Will be safe.

Mycroft walked in with Anthea directly behind him. Paramedics followed as they ran up to each man. Thomas told them that he was okay. Sherlock growled at them in between coughing and wheezing. John stepped back and let the medics work. He stayed close by, however. John was waiting to see what he would do after the antidote was opened.

Mycroft stood looking at everything. He noticed when the monitor came to life again. There was once again a blinking red light above the water tank that he deduced that his little brother was in judging by the state of him. He looked at the light and glanced at a nearby agent. The agent nodded. After giving a warning, he took out his gun and aimed. Mycroft smiled and nodded at the monitor before a shot rang out. Soon, nothing was left but sparking wires and smoke. The entire display had been a bit dramatic on Mycroft's part. It was not necessary. An agent pushed a device, and a signal was broadcast to jam any hidden monitors or microphones that were doubtlessly hidden throughout the building.

Something bothered Mycroft. He looked at Sherlock more intensely. Sherlock glanced at his eyes then glanced away. Mycroft mouth opened wordlessly, and something flashed in his eyes before his icy exterior came back.

"Help me to my feet," Sherlock said.

Before Thomas could walk the short distance, Mycroft's long legs closed the short space taking him to his brother's side. He looked into Mycroft's intense gaze before he quickly looked away as he made his way over to Lestrade. Sherlock's hands gripped the edge of the trolley. Partially to support himself, partially to keep his hands from touching Lestrade to assure himself that he was okay, going to be okay. He compromised with himself and pulled the blanket up to Lestrade's shoulder.

"Question for antidote," Sherlock said slowly in an ineffective effort not to stutter. Thomas ran to get the note as Sherlock quietly watched the medic start an IV on Lestrade.

They started to wheel Lestrade outside and put him in the ambulance. Donovan's voice was heard on the outside as she demanded to go with Lestrade. Sherlock sighed.

"John, how are you feeling?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Pretty good for someone who has been poisoned," John snorted, "I thought with all the running about, I would be feeling some symptoms now."

Thomas read the note to Sherlock. It said simply. "The light's the same but who's the rook?"

Sherlock smirked before the wave of nausea took the smile away. "Thomas would you put in the same letters." Sherlock frowned as his breathing increased, "Wait…" He closed his eyes against the nausea and opened them as he tried again.

"Who's the rook," Sherlock repeated to himself. "The same letters as before, but in reverse. Violet, Red, Orange, Ingigo, Green, and Blue" Sherlock said before adding. "In reverse alphabetical order, V-R-O-I-G-B, and then enter."

"I'm sure John," Sherlock said before John could ask. Thomas took out the small box. He thought about telling everyone to step back, but at the look Holmes gave him when he opened his mouth, he closed it again wordlessly. Thomas entered the letters saying them aloud to himself. He looked up and when there were, no objections pressed enter. Everyone was very quiet as if someone held up a sign saying _silence._ Thomas held his breath and waited. A soft beep sounded twice as lights flashed then stopped flashing.

The door popped open.

John felt like a weight lifted. "It's safer to give me the antidote after an IV line has been started just in case I have a seizure or need emergency medication directly into my veins. Saline only, anything else could mix with the drug and be dangerous."

"You'll both be getting the saline IV that you spoke of." Mycroft said firmly. Sherlock frowned but did not argue.

Mycroft received a phone call as he watched the paramedics insert saline IV fluids into both men. It was about Mrs. Hudson and 221 B Baker Street. Mycroft's face remained blank. He made a decision. He would tell both men what happened later. Now, they both needed medical care.

The orange shock blanket made its way onto both men's shoulders. Sherlock, in fact, had two blankets. He surprised John for the second time in minutes as he took the shock blanket from them and allowed John to help him remove his wet shirt and wrap both blankets around his bruised body.

John's body became rigid. He looked at Sherlock and gasped loudly. Everyone suddenly became quiet and looked at both men. John inhaled sharply again as his body stiffened more.

"I'll take that antidote now please." John said quietly as he reached out his hand to take the syringe.

* * *

**_Fifteen Minutes Earlier_**

The skinny man walked in the alley of 221 B Baker Street. He walked from the dim shadow into the dark. He looked down as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He looked and cursed as he turned to back out of the alleyway. He felt his body slam into the rubbish as air was violently expelled from his lungs.

He did not protest or say a word when handcuffs were clicked onto his wrist. He looked to his right and saw what appeared to be a young agent smirking dressed in a wig, a flowery dress, and an apron.

The skinny man cursed again as he was dragged away.

* * *

Moriarty chuckled while he replayed the video. It had been entertaining even though it was cut short when Mycroft Holmes jam the signal. He could not see or hear anything after that. Sherlock probably already gave his pet the antidote. He reminded himself that even with the antidote, Doctor Watson had three very unpleasant days ahead. Maybe, he would send flowers. Red, of course.

He chuckled again when he remembered how Mycroft Holmes directed one of his agents to shoot the monitor. To think that the elder Holmes accused **him** of being dramatic.

His mobile vibrated in his inner suit pocket. A rare frowned crossed Moriarty's face as he pulled out the mobile that no one was supposed to have a number to.

Moriarty read the text. His eyes narrowed. He clutched the mobile in his hand tightly. He read it again. Any remaining mirth left his face as Moriarty's eyebrows rose. He looked at the initial of the person who sent the text as he quickly exited the room. They were **M.H.**

* * *

Mycroft and Thomas had somehow reached Sherlock's side. The Paramedics were suddenly pushing Sherlock back on the trolley.

Sherlock noticed that it was becoming more difficult to focus. "John, something… need… tell you." It was important that John listened.

"Sherlock, be still and quiet." John said with urgency as Sherlock felt something burn slightly as it was pushed into his vein.

Why was it, now that it was safe to tell John, John was not listening. It was annoying. Sherlock was suddenly tired and shaking more but had to try again.

"J... John." Sherlock tried again.

"I know Sherlock. You gave yourself the poison." John's mouth was tight. He squeezed Sherlock hand lightly as he walked beside the trolley.

Why was everyone staring at him? He hated people staring at him when he did not feel good.

Sherlock eyes suddenly widened as the world tilted.

John.

Where was John?

Before he knew what was happening John cradled his head as Sherlock vomited over the side of the trolley.

Sherlock wiped at his nose and mouth, with a weak and shaky hand. Something sticky and wet came back. Sherlock looked strangely at the red on his hand. The noise increased suddenly as the paramedics now ran with the trolley. Mycroft, Thomas, and John's face bounced up and down beside the trolleys sides as if they were running too. He closed his eyes, their bouncing faces were making him dizzy.

Sherlock tried to tell John that he did not feel good, but could not seem to get the words out. He opened his eyes again looking for John. His eyes locked onto John's eyes. Why did they look worried, even Mycroft? He did not like John to be worried. He wanted to keep looking. John was telling him that it was important, but he was so tired, so very tired. He held on to John's face. To his voice.

After a minute, his eyelids grew heavier. He was losing the battle. The weariness was unbearable now.

Sorry John.

He lost the fight to keep his eyes opened as his lids finally closed and the world and the noises faded slowly away.

* * *

A/N I hope that you are enjoying. Let me know. Love to all. Update as soon as possible. Thank you so much for all your support. It makes the hard work worth it. :)

Lots of Love, Zacha


	88. Chapter 88

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 88

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you: Kitiara88 (I will try my best to keep it up. :)), Burning Phoenix (If you are on the edge of your seat, hang on tight.), MapleleafCameo (Poor Sherlock indeed, glad John is there.), hJohn302 (Thank for the multiple reviews. Sherlock would do anything for John), Puky2012 (Thank for the multiple post. What did Mycroft do, we will see.), Danishprince (Sorry to be cruel. It is only because I care ;) ), gemstone1234 (Thanks for the multiple post. I hope the Thalmes was not too cold. ;) ), Esstell, (More crazy ahead love.), Prothoe (Thank for the multiple reviews. I think a tiny Sherlock is permanently in John's head.) Bookworm Gal, (Thanks for your comments and conversations. :)), Natalia (You clever you. You were correct :D), Catie501 ( Thank for the multiple reviews. I think that Sherlock rocks as well.), bruderlein ( There might be more that you did not see coming. Hang on.), sdale05 (Welcome :) ), AJ Elfhawk, (Enjoy the ride) To all guests. All my love.

**I could not respond to one PM because the PM was not enabled . :)

Thank you ; Bookworm Gal, Danishprince ,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippus , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, (Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , Danishprince, EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

*****.***T rated ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. **The Game…**

Busy times ahead of me so I wanted to get these to you.

1. I wrote several chapters so read all at once

Or

2. Section out the chapters until the weekend

Those on holiday, stay safe.

To the one of you who had a lose. I am thinking of you. :)

Note:

1. Beverly **Allitt**, born in the sixties, worked as a nurse and was one of Britain's most well know female serial killers.

2. A **skip **is a really big bin (trash container) which is for large amounts of rubble. Skips are hauled away by trucks.

3. An **Ambu bag** is a medical device used to provide assisted ventilation to people who are either not breathing or are having trouble breathing.

* * *

"_**The difficulties you meet will resolve themselves as you advance. Proceed, and light will dawn, and shine with increasing clearness on your path.**_" ~ Jim Rohn

* * *

**Current Day**

**Current Time**

She sat on the plush beige striped chair as her fingers absently brushed back and forth on the hard cold floor. She thought about the events that led her to the moment that she found herself in. She looked toward her balcony deep in thought. The rising sun streamed in ribbons through the oversized windows that lined the elegant room. She had her people pack up the bags to leave. She was going to disappear for the next few months. Somewhere warm this time.

No one knew of this place but Sherlock. However, Mycroft was good and knew about her other two properties; it would be a matter of time before he found her current location. This was the most comfortable of all her properties. It was the one that felt the closest to home since her grandmother died.

Hurried footsteps came into the room as the woman stood quickly.

Her most two trusted employees came into the room. Clare and James stood in front of her. They both had a grim look on their face.

"Ms. Adler, information has come in." The female said as she handed her employer the note.

Ms. Adler hurriedly opened the sealed envelope then read the note that was written in Russian. She quietly walked over to the fireplace and threw the note in the fire. Irene watched in fascination, as the black circles appeared randomly on the paper, and then white flames with red edges consumed the note. Within seconds, all that was left were ashes on the logs.

"Get him ready to travel immediately, don't wait for me." She hesitated, "Guard him with your life, If something should happen to me, if you do not hear from me in four days, you know what to do."

She walked over to her desk and pulled out three letters, and a jump drive. "One letter was addressed to Doctor Watson, one was to Mycroft Holmes. There was also one addressed to Sherlock Holmes. She took that one and quickly walked over to the flames as she, after a brief hesitation, threw it in. Within a minute, the flames had eaten that one letter as well.

"Do you want us to wait until you see him Ms. Adler?" James asked.

"Arm yourselves and leave now." She did not turn to look at them again. She heard their quickly retreating footsteps. She showed no emotion. Those who knew her thought of her as strong, even cold. However, the truth that she kept from everyone was that she did not have the strength to look at him then leave. He was safer away from her now.

Mycroft was not the only one who was trying to find her.

She sighed as she looked toward the light of the distant city; it really was a beautiful city. She would have to say goodbye to Saint Petersburg for the foreseeable future.

There were two simple reasons for her retreat. Sherlock was in danger. The other reason was equally as simple.

Moriarty.

* * *

**Thirty-Two Minutes Earlier**

**Mycroft's POV**

The building was secured and Moriarty's men were dead or captured. The one who was considered to be the British Government walked into the building on the outskirt of Soho.

Clever.

The kidnapper had driven the men around in a circle giving the impression that they were being taken a long distance away when in truth they had been not far from the original point of contact. Two of the transmitters from Sherlock's shoes were found on the other end of town in a skip. It was meant to be a distraction. If it was not for Mycroft's quick thinking to follow the distorted signal from the CCTV cameras, and Thomas planting a tracker under the car seat that they were put in when kidnapped, they might not have reached in time.

Mycroft noticed clothing on the floor. He walked over to it. His brothers clothing, socks and his shoes with the heels broken completely off were wet on the floor. The water reached them. They were not his concern. He noticed his brother's light- black Belstaff wool coat. He frowned and picked it up. He caught the eye of an agent.

Mycroft glanced at his brother as his face softened. "Have this clean and returned to him in the hour."

"Yes Sir." The agent ran off without another word.

Mycroft walked slowly as he took in the long but narrow room. Sherlock's panting voice growled at the paramedics in between coughing up water, and wheezing. The elder Holmes sighed. He would give Sherlock time to get his frustrations out before he tried to reason with him. He knew that the Sherlock of two years ago would need time to distress.

Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Doctor Watson would handle his brother. John would probably be able to get Sherlock to do with a word what most people could not get his brother to do with a gun. He glanced at his brother. Satisfied that he was breathing, he quickly glanced away. He took a few minutes to take in the details of the room. His body was perfectly still except for random blinking of the eyes. His eyes traveled around the room. Data flowed at an alarming rate into his mind and was categorized in order of importance. His eyes took in the DI Lestrade that the paramedics were moving quickly around. He inhaled deeply and walked slower. As he walked, he noted the squishing sound that started to resonate under his shoes. It was quite a bit of it. He hoped that it would not ruin his Italian leather shoes.

His eyes now went to Thomas who appeared to be physically uninjured although somewhat wet and cold. He would insist that the agent take a shock blanket if he did not do so on his own. He glanced at the scattered red lights that he noticed at various points in the building as he walked in. His eyes narrowed annoyed. In a second, it was gone and his facial features returned to a stony indifference. He now looked at Doctor Watson as he moved quickly around Lestrade. He was wet as well.

Mycroft closed his eyes briefly then looked at his brother.

Sherlock's rant had died down. His burst of energy was now gone. He lay trembling on the concrete floor. He was soaked. The younger Holmes shirt and trousers were plastered to his body, his curls weighed down. Even though his coughing was better, it still persisted. He lay still on his back with his eyes closed as an agent uncuffed the chains on his hands and feet.

Mycroft lips thinned. He looked at the water tank yards from where the younger Holmes lay. A wave of wrath ran through Mycroft's body. No one would have noticed except Sherlock who was preoccupied with breathing at the moment, and a preoccupied John who just stepped back from Lestrade. Watson allowed the paramedics to take over completely now. Mycroft's jaws clinched together briefly.

One of the solid red lights started to blink again. The light moved and seemed to turn and swivel slowly until it came to rest where a now freed Sherlock was shivering uncontrollably on the ground. Mycroft's body stiffened as he caught the eyes of an agent that was passing by. Within a few minutes, damaged wires and sparks were all that remained of the monitor. Mycroft walked closer to Sherlock now and stood by looking. Something was irritating his mind. Something was out of place. He looked more intensely at his brother. His saturated white shirt was almost transparent. The bruises on his skin were easily seen under the shirt. Water soaked with dried blood, produced an area of pink that was soaking into the shirt and slowly spreading. Presumably, from areas of bruising from when he was beaten earlier. A few cuts and scrapes on his body and face were also running.

Something bothered Mycroft. He looked at Sherlock more intensely. Sherlock glanced at his brother's eyes then glanced away. It was something in Sherlock eyes; they almost gave a silent apology. Mycroft's mouth opened wordlessly, and something flashed in his eyes before his icy exterior came back.

"Help me to my feet," Sherlock said with a shaky voice.

Lestrade was finally being loaded onto the trolley now and Sherlock was determined to get to him. Before Thomas could walk the short distance, Mycroft's long legs closed the short space taking him to his brother's side. Mycroft helped his brother up.

He looked into Mycroft's intense gaze before he quickly looked away as he made his way over to Lestrade. Sherlock staggered over to Lestrade as he looked with concern at the unconscious man. Sherlock's hands gripped the edge of the trolley as if he would collapse at any minute. Alarm bells rang in Mycroft's mind.

Lestrade was wheeled out. As Sherlock watched him go, the last of his energy seemed to go as well. Sherlock blinked a few times as he staggered over to the closest wall and leaned his back against it.

Mycroft made a few telephone calls, text, and received them, as his eyes now did not leave his brother. He watched his brother and was careful to always be within a few yards of him at all times. He watched as he solved the last puzzle and seemed to struggle more with each passing minute. He finally glanced away from Sherlock to John. John now seemed to be watching Sherlock more closely too.

Doctor Watson was giving instructions about how to safely administer the antidote. Yet… Mycroft noticed it again. **It** was not one thing but a thousand little seemingly insignificant things that screamed, _pay attention, danger_.

He heard Doctor Watson finish speaking. Time for the test.

"You'll both be getting the saline IV that you spoke of." Mycroft said firmly as he watched Sherlock expression carefully. Sherlock frowned; he did not argue but instead looked away at a wall.

He did **not** argue.

Mycroft cursed in his mind as his grip tightened around the umbrella.

John's mouth opened and closed it before he looked at Mycroft for the first time. He questioned Mycroft with his eyes. Mycroft looked back as his mobile interrupted him. He text and spoke on the mobile. He watched as the paramedic started an IV fluid on both men. John's eyes did not leave Sherlock, as he seemed to be deep in thought. John suddenly without explanation disconnected his IV fluids and put a cap on his heparin lock. He abruptly walked over to Sherlock. Sherlock seemed to be in a daze as he allowed John passively to remove his shirt and give him dry blankets. John looked at Sherlock's bruised body closely and frowned.

Thomas walked back into the room. He finished directing the other agents and assigned someone to supervise. He glanced at Mycroft then Watson then Holmes. Both Thomas and Mycroft seemed to walk closer.

John and a paramedic helped Sherlock onto the trolley. He seemed a little more dazed as if he did not even realize that he was on the trolley. Thomas frowned when again. He did not argue. He glanced at Mycroft and John.

John saw something. He unwrapped a corner of the shock blanket and stilled suddenly. Mycroft watched wordlessly as John shaking hand stretched slightly as it reached. He looked at it as it returned to him. John's eyes moved from his hands to look at Sherlock. Mycroft heard a gasp escape John's lips. The elder Holmes did not believe that John even noticed. The room was suddenly silenced as everyone looked at both men. The grim look on John face was not unnoticed by Mycroft.

"I'll take that antidote now please." Mycroft heard John say quietly. Mycroft looked as in control and emotionless as he normally did. Only the tightening on his umbrella indicated his now racing heart**.**

* * *

She glanced nervously at the window as she looked at the city below. She was tired and her body still a little sore. She was risking everything to come back to the city. She looked out the window of the airplane as it made its landing. She traveled far and was a little fatigued. They would be landing in thirty minutes.

She smiled sadly. "Only you can cause me to travel half a world away to be near you."

She only had to sneak in a city. Keep her movements from Moriarty, sneak past Mycroft's man, and then sneak back out again undetected. She could let Mycroft know that she was back in the country but it was difficult losing his men the last time that she left, and there were things that Mycroft did not need to know. Not yet at least.

Irene closed her eyes and tried to rest her body some more.

"Well," She thought. "Let the party begin."


	89. Chapter 89

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 89

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

*****.***T rated ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. **The Game…**

Busy times ahead of me so I wanted to get these to you.

1. I wrote several chapters so read all at once

Or

2. Section out the chapters until the weekend

Those on holiday, stay safe.

To the one of you who had a lose. I am thinking of you. :)

Note:

1. Beverly **Allitt**, born in the sixties, worked as a nurse and was one of Britain's most well know female serial killers.

2. A **skip **is a really big bin (trash container) which is for large amounts of rubble. Skips are hauled away by trucks.

3. An **Ambu bag** is a medical device used to provide assisted ventilation to people who are either not breathing or are having trouble breathing.

* * *

"_**Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle. **_

James Russell Lowell**,** Cambridge Literary Essays

* * *

**John POV**

**Fourteen Minutes Earlier**

Sherlock fought with his eyelids as he opened his eyes wide and tried to sit up. One of the paramedics wordlessly pushed him back down.

"John, something… need… tell you." John heard Sherlock say with a slurred voice.

"Sherlock, be still and quiet." John said with urgency.

John's skilled fingers automatically gripped the syringe with one hand as his other hand found then held the rubbery IV port. His lips closed around the syringe cap as his teeth gripped and held on tightly to the cap while his hand pulled the cap-less syringe away. He quickly pushed the needle past the rubbery surface until the needle completely disappeared into it. People were talking to him, asking him questions. John ignored them as his full attention went into counting. He had to inject the antidote slowly.

Sixty-seconds.

He had to slowly inject the brown tinged liquid over a period of sixty seconds.

… _Thirty-one… Thirty-two… Thirty-three…_

John's lips moved silently counting as the trolley started to move. He had not even noticed that he was moving alongside the trolley.

He finished and wordlessly handed the syringe to an agent that was walking besides the trolley. He glanced at Mycroft who gave a slight nod. His hand quickly and efficiently gave the antidote

"Analyze the residue from the syringe." John heard Mycroft say.

The Doctor's mind was already preoccupied as he thought of the three ingredients out of the five that Sherlock told the agents that he could identify. All the ingredients were troubling but one came to his mind now. He had to watch for abnormal bleeding.

Sherlock was already showing early signs. The wounds from his earlier attacks that had clotted were starting to bleed again.

John mouth opened wordlessly as he looked at Sherlock. The beautiful, sodding idiot of a man.

"J... John." John heard Sherlock say again. His voice was much weaker yet still sounded slightly annoyed. John almost laughed when he saw the exasperated look on Sherlock's face.

Almost.

"I know Sherlock. You gave yourself the poison." John tried to smile at Sherlock but it turned into a pained expression instead. John's mouth was tight. He took Sherlock hand and squeezed lightly as he walked briskly beside the trolley. The fact that Sherlock did not argue about the use of such a sentimental gesture, but instead weakly squeezed back caused a knot to form inside of his stomach. Sherlock seemed to be fighting his body and unconsciousness as he fixed his blue-gray eyes on John's face. John noticed that some of the color left his eyes. Sherlock moved his lips a few times but could not seem to get the energy up to speak.

John tried again to smile. He then glanced at Mycroft and Thomas. Thomas looked grave. Mycroft thinned his lips further. He took out his mobile and let everyone concerned know that he expected to arrive at a prepared hospital so quickly that the laws of physics would be defied.

John looked up as he noticed with relief that they were almost to the end of the building. They passed through the long corridor and were almost to the final door when John felt the grip on his hand tighten. He frowned as he looked at Sherlock; his mouth was opened as he groaned. His eyes rapidly scanned above the trolley. He seemed to be searching for John even though he was right in front of him.

John's eyes widened.

"Stop," John shouted as he simultaneously let go of Sherlock's hand and grabbed his upper body, He quickly pulled it off the trolley and over the side rails as he cradled his head with his arms.

"It's alright Sherlock. I've got you," John said soothingly as he vomited what was in his stomach along with swallowed water on the concrete.

Mycroft stepped toward Sherlock as he now touched his brother. He put a hand on his shoulder. The man who knew how to run a government seemed to not know what to do. John watched as Mycroft's mask completely melted away. The elder Holmes openly frowned now.

John helped Sherlock to lie back down on the trolley as they started to walk more briskly beside him. Sherlock wiped his mouth and nose with a shaky hand as he seemed to once again find John's eyes.

John cursed. Everyone looked at the pink tinged puddle on the floor. Shouting and running started. Even Mycroft was keeping up a steady run, yet managing not to lose his umbrella.

Sherlock eyes were closing.

"Stay awake Sherlock!" John said firmly. Sherlock eyes opened, he seemed determined to obey.

John frowned as he looked and took Sherlock's hand back in his and squeezed. John had hoped that he was wrong.

John's eyes held a look of shock as he noticed the red crimson streaks on Sherlock's hand and face. Sherlock seemed to examine his shaking hand and stared at the red almost fascinated. His bruises seemed to intensify in color and his lips took on a bluish tinge.

Sherlock eyes rolled as if they would close. He felt a hand on his cheek. He heard the words.

"**No, no, Sherlock. Awake, stay awake**." John said a little louder. "It's important that you stay awake Sherlock. Do you understand Sherlock? Stay awake."

Sherlock's eyes opened quickly as he tried to blink away the weariness.

Dimmed eyes now seemed to search the faces above him. Sherlock frowned as he looked from one face to another. He seemed to lock eyes with Mycroft for a minute before returning to John.

They passed through the door into the night. The darkness contrasted dramatically with the flashing lights of emergency vehicles and the sounds of shouting as it pierced the stillness of night. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust.

They quickly lifted him into the ambulance as it sped away. Mycroft climbed in beside him as Thomas and Anthea and several agents ran toward several black Mercedes Benz. John closely watched the paramedics move in the small space as he spoke words of comfort and encouragement to his friend. John felt Sherlock's pulse and frowned. He looked at Mycroft.

"We will be there within a minute John." Mycroft said as he ran his hand along Sherlock's hair. John wondered if Mycroft was even aware of what he was doing.

John looked at Mycroft with relief as the ambulance pulled into the hospital and stopped suddenly.

Sherlock weakened grip on John hand now relaxed completely. John looked at Sherlock who was looking back with a partially opened mouth and unfocused eyes.

There was a loud bang as the doors were opened.

"Sherlock?" John asked as hands grabbed his friend and lifted the trolley running. Sherlock eyes rolled upwards. They traveled into the hospital as emergency staff ran toward the trolley.

John looked at his chest as it rose and a breath exhaled noisily. He looked into the closing eyes of Sherlock.

"Sherlock?" John whispered as he followed him into the room. Bodies seemed to whiz by John as they removed clothing and put equipment on him. The volume of voices increased. John could not take his eyes off his friend's chest as if his will alone could cause him to breathe again.

Sherlock did not inhale again.

"Sherlock!" John said as emergency personnel tried to pull him out of the room. One look from the eyes of the ex-soldier caused the staff to let go of him and back off. John Watson did not say another word.

The trolley was put flat as Sherlock was quickly rolled on his side. A stiff hand-board was put underneath his body. He was then rolled to lay again on his back. Emergency worker started to compress his chest rhythmically, as another worker grabbed an Ambu bag, and rapidly put it over the younger Holmes nose, and mouth, and pushed oxygen into the unresponsive man's nose in a rhythmic count.

Words and medical terminology floated in and out of John's hearing. He did not say another word. His eyes never left Sherlock as his body was manipulated by hands and equipment. John backed against the wall slowly until he felt the solid surface pressing into his back. He felt Mycroft when he walked beside him. Both seemed to take strength from the other's presence. Despite Mycroft's calm exterior, John knew that he was having a difficult time.

Something caught John attention as his body stiffened. They were words spoken in a rushed voice.

"… Losing him… defibrillator … bleeding… ventricular tachycardia…"

John's world seemed to narrow as he noticed Mycroft's harsh breaths. John tried to remember to just.

Breathe.

* * *

Moriarty sat back as his airplane climbed in altitude. He grabbed the sides of the airplane seat as gravity pushed his body down. Behind his dark sunglasses, his eyelids closed. After a few minutes, the aircraft evened out its climb. He exhaled a breath and casually crossed his legs as he picked up the phone line located on the side wall of the aircraft.

_The voice on the other end of the phone line spoke. "Sir, it is as you said. Three bank accounts are frozen. Two banks say that they need you to come in personally to release the funds. Two of your properties are seized. Thirty of your men are captured. Two are your key men…"_

"And…" Moriarty said calmly as he reached for his bottle water.

"_Somehow, personal information about you has been leaked to the criminal organizations around the world. Nothing damaging, it's just that I know that you like to be private, hidden, in the shadows. You've just been described Sir… Um… down to the underwear brand that you wear."_

_There was a slight hesitation, "You're no longer the unknown Consultant Criminal Sir. You're now the Consultant Criminal named Mr. Moriarty."_

"I see," Moriarty said.

"_Well, at least your famous Sir." The voice said on the other line._

"Who was in charge of the three bank accounts that were seized?" Moriarty asked casually.

"_Begension and Ahlgren Sir." The voice said._

"I want to see them personally, when I arrive." Moriarty said as he brushed the few stray drops of water off of his Westwood suit.

"_Um, yes Sir."_ _The voice obeyed._

"And I want knives. Lots of dull knives," Moriarty said bored.

"_Yes Sir."_

"Oh and have tea and sandwiches ready when I arrive." Moriarty disconnected.

Jim sighed. He had many more bank accounts hidden. It was the way that Mycroft revealed how he looked that had bothered him the most. Hidden has always been the way he preferred to live his life. Hidden and in the shadows_. _

He smirked. Of course, Mycroft would know how to truly hurt him. The Holmes brothers were interesting.

He now took a rare gulp of wine, he usually only sipped slowly. What the hell, he thought. He took several more gulps as he finished the entire glass now.

He put his ear buds in his ears and turned up the music. It was usually the classics but now he listened to modern music. He did not want to relax; he wanted to get angry. He had to think. He smiled humorlessly.

Mycroft was kind enough to reveal his secrets; he would need to return the favor. He now smiled more.

He had to admit one thing as the airplane disappeared into the clouds.

At least he was not bored.


	90. Chapter 90

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 90

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Notes:

*****.***T rated ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. **The Game…**

Busy times ahead of me so I wanted to get these to you.

1. I wrote several chapters so read all at once

Or

2. Section out the chapters until the weekend

Those on holiday, stay safe.

To the one of you who had a lose. I am thinking of you. :)

1. Beverly **Allitt**, born in the sixties, worked as a nurse and was one of Britain's most well know female serial killers.

2. A **skip **is a really big bin (trash container) which is for large amounts of rubble. Skips are hauled away by trucks.

3. An **Ambu bag** is a medical device used to provide assisted ventilation to people who are either not breathing or are having trouble breathing.

* * *

_**"If patience is worth anything, it must endure to the end of time. And a living faith will last in the midst of the blackest storm."**_ ~ Mahatma Gandhi

* * *

He took a breath.**  
**

Mycroft noticed the doctor walking toward him and rose from the hard plastic chair first. He briefly wondered if he had said goodbye when he disconnected his mobile. John a moment later stood beside him.

Mycroft took one look at the doctor and frown but said nothing.

"Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson." There was a hesitation. "I'm sorry, even with the antidote, he lost a lot of blood." There was another hesitation. "The electrocution sped up the poison in his body, we did all we could." Still, another hesitation.

"What are you trying to say?" John asked impatiently.

The doctor sighed quietly. "Mr. Holmes is in a coma."

* * *

**Twenty-four Hours Later**

John sat in the room and looked at Sherlock. He had not left his side. Mycroft came in and out. He needed to _do something._

Sherlock was still, so incredibly still. It seemed like a law of nature was broken. Sherlock Holmes was never still.

Sherlock skin was an incredibly pale contrasts next to his dark curly hair and bruises. His lips had a bluish hue. A heart monitor, blood transfusion, and IV fluids lines ran to and from his body. They took Sherlock off the ventilator hours ago. That was a good sign, John thought. At least that is what he would have to tell himself. Bandages were wrapped around various points on his torso, and various places on his body, including his wrists and ankles.

Various machines beeped away in soft rhythm. It was almost soothing. Oxygen, monitors, tubes, and fluids crowded the room.

John sat the chair by his bed and continued to wait and watch over him.

"Time to wake up," John said casually. He waited hoping to hear an irritated voice answer him.

None came.

"You've forced me into this," John said. He took out a novel that he knew Sherlock hated and started to read.

"You'll just have to wake up and tell me to shut up," John said, as he suddenly needed to clear his throat.

John held his book in shaky hands, and read.

* * *

**Two Days Later **

The nurse was stopped by the two agents that were outside the door. She was pulled from another unit because the regular nurse was unable to make it at the last minute. The two agents checked her ID against the name list then let her in the room after everything was verified.

It was the graveyard shift and everyone was fatigued because it was three-fifteen in the morning. The nurse smiled when her back was to the agents and moved into the room. She saw John's sleeping form and quietly walked over to the bed where Sherlock lay.

Her hands came silently up to inject something in Holmes IV port. As her hands contracted to push the plunger in, a piece of unyielding metal was felt as it dug into her side.

"It's not time for any medication. Who are you? Hands up slowly." John's voice was deadly and low.

Her hand slowly moved up as she smiled.

"Very good. I was trying to get in and out before you saw me John," A familiar voice said smoothly.

"Irene, I could have shot you. I didn't know who you were." John said as he sighed with relief.

"That was the point John. Sorry I did not mean to wake you." She said as she kissed him gently on the cheek.

John looked at her curiously, "Is there any point in asking you where you were, how you got past the three levels of security, or how you got past Mycroft's men?"

Irene only smiled in the dim light.

"Do you want the light turned on?"

"No."

"This will counteract the poison. It is similar to the antidote that he has already received but is a little stronger."

"John looked her in the eyes for a moment then nodded.

She injected the substance in the IV port slowly before stopping and gently running her hand through his soft curls.

"Here is more," She took a vial out of her pocket and gave it to John. "I know that you will not feel comfortable until you can examine the substance."

"I'm sorry that I am late. I have to be more careful nowadays. My contacts are slower getting information to me now. It seems as if Moriarty wants me for tea John." Irene smiled. "What do you think John," Irene said quietly, "Will he serve cake as well?"

John sighed as he stood by Irene. "Are you sure you should be off on your own now Irene?"

"It's complicated." Irene said simply. "I don't have long before I have to go. My flight leaves in seven hours. Give me that long before you tell Mycroft that the antidote was given to you by me."

John looked at her. "I have to get coffee. I'll be gone for ten minutes. Could you stay with him until I return?"

"Of course," She said distracted.

She started to speak quietly to the still form in the bed as he walked to the door.

"Come back to us. Come back to John. Remember me…" He heard her whisper as she sat on the chair next to Sherlock. He glanced at Irene as he closed the door.

* * *

Smell.

That was the first thing that came to his mind. The smell of disinfectant was the first thing that was noticed.

Next were sounds.

Sherlock heard sounds. The sounds weaved their way in and out of his consciousness. At first, the sounds seemed to be just disorderly noises. Soon the noises started to take order and have meaning. One of the sounds was identified. It was a soft yet persistent beeping of the monitors. The sound floated in from his left.

Somewhere inside him came words. _Disinfectant_ and _Hospital_ danced in the back of his mind.

He felt a touch. He battled to open his eyes. His body felt like lead. Everything seemed to hurt but the pain was held at arm's length.

Pain medication, his mind informed him.

Meaningless words and sounds slowly knitted together with voices. Then the voices solidified into coherent thought.

"… Sherlock, say something mate. Sherlock do you hear me…" John face slowly came into focus.

John, it was John.

Sherlock looked at his face and tried to smile.

"J… John," Sherlock whispered.

He must have said the right thing because the smile on John's face could not have gotten any wider. He coughed weakly. His throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Strong hands were lifting his head up as water came to his lips.

"Just a few sips," John said gently.

The water tasted like liquid gold and he almost sighed. He nodded his thanks to John.

John's voice floated into his mind like a warm blanket as words weaved their way in and out of his consciousness again. A comfortable gray enveloped him.

As his eyes closed in rest, he thought he heard John's voice say, "Welcome back."

* * *

"Well," Mrs. Hudson sighed as she sat tiredly drinking tea. There were scattered teacups, eat off trays with half eaten food, and cups of coffee in the small room. She sat as she looked around at the agents that have been stationed on in her flat day and night.

She had visited Lestrade and Sherlock. It took a bit of arguing before they agreed to let her out of the flat. That nice agent Mary Myers had personally escorted her there and back.

She took another sip of tea.

At least Lestrade was better. She frowned when she thought of how bruised he looked. He looked a bit ruffed up but once the drugs wore off, they could not stop the man from talking, correction, arguing to leave. He also threatened to walk himself into Sherlock's room so they wheeled him into see Sherlock.

She smiled.

Being with Sherlock had made them all a bit more stubborn than they use to be.

Her smile left.

Sherlock had looked so still. Mrs. Hudson had to look at his chest rising and falling to assure herself that he was not dead. So, very still. She sighed more dramatically this time.

Her mobile rang. She frowned. They said that the next few hours would be the most important. Sherlock would start to get better or…

The mobile rang again. Agents now looked at her. Ms. Hudson ignored them. She picked up her mobile and recognized that it was from John.

The mobile rang for the third time. She raised her chin and pushed the connect button."John."

"_He's awake," John's voice said._

Mrs. Hudson closed her eyes and bit her lips. She did not trust her voice for a moment.

"_Mrs. Hudson, are you there?" John's voice asked again._

Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat, and dabbed at her eyes to catch the tears. "Well, I'd better start cooking soup. You know he'll never eat the food there, love. He'll be a pure terror if they try to feed him."

She smiled as she heard John's voice as he laughed.


	91. Chapter 91

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 91

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

*****.*****M rated for violence** ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. **The Game…**

Busy times ahead of me so I wanted to get these to you.

1. I wrote several chapters so read all at once

Or

2. Section out the chapters until the weekend

Those on holiday, stay safe.

To the one of you who had a lose. I am thinking of you. :)

Note:

1. Beverly **Allitt**, born in the sixties, worked as a nurse and was one of Britain's most well know female serial killers.

2. A **skip **is a really big bin (trash container) which is for large amounts of rubble. Skips are hauled away by trucks.

3. An **Ambu bag** is a medical device used to provide assisted ventilation to people who are either not breathing or are having trouble breathing.

* * *

_**" Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened, and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of pain." **_~ Charles Dickens

* * *

The next time he awoke was less dramatic. He blinked away the sleep as he looked in the room as data floated in. He mentally cataloged his injuries as he looked around. His eyes fell on John who sat snoring softly in the corner. Seeing John comforted him more than he could verbally express. He knew that he would be there.

He looked at the chair next to where John was sitting. He noticed Mycroft's coat but did not see his brother. Mycroft was probably on his mobile trying to either avert or start a war somewhere in the world. He almost smirked but pain shot through him when he moved his body. He groaned as his eyes shut tight.

He felt someone beside him and the pain receded. After a few minutes, his breathing evened out and he opened his eyes.

John waited patiently for him to get himself under control.

"John how long?" Sherlock whispered a question.

"Four days," John said as he looked into slightly more alert eyes.

This time, it was two minutes before sleep pulled him back into the gray nothingness.

For hours, John waited as Sherlock came in and out of sleep. Each time he became more alert and stayed awake for longer periods of time. Mycroft came in and out at different intervals.

Sherlock was so weak that he could not walk. Yet, by late evening, He still intimidated John into taking him to see Lestrade. Talking about cases seemed to make both men comfortable. John noticed the fact that neither one chose to mention what they had been through in the week because of Moriarty.

Both men talked for close to an hour before Sherlock fell asleep in the chair and Lestrade in his bed. John smiled as he took a picture with his mobile.

Later that night, both men sat in a comfortable quiet back in Sherlock's hospital room. They were watching the television. That was when the dreaded words were spoken.

"John." Sherlock pouted.

"Yes Sherlock," John asked with slight apprehension.

"I'm bored," Gray-blue eyes informed him as his hands played with the edge of his blanket.

John looked at Sherlock and tried to decide if he wanted to smile or moan.

He smiled.

* * *

**Later that Night.**

The man walked briskly as he walked down the stairs. The sounds of screaming and crying that reverberated off the walls of the basement level did not affect him in any way. He was used to it.

The guard moved further into the room and waited against the wall until needed.

"Please… Sir, I…I…d…did everything p…possible S…Sir, I swear. I swear… I swear…" sobs and whimpers filled the room as the man named Begension looked at Ahlgren. Blood cover plastic gloves were next to him.

Ahlgren was unconscious. The blood loss, and cuts, and … he could not finish the thought as he sobbed. He also seemed to not be able to look away from the gruesome scene. His sobs became louder as he stared at his colleague. He had long ago abandoned his pride the moment his suit jacket and shirt came off.

It was a surreal scene. Moriarty sat next to Begension as he ate his lunch. He sliced an apple with the same knife that he had _worked_ with. Drops of blood spattered on his Westwood suit. Moriarty seemed to ignore this fact. Bach played in the background.

Moriarty mobile rang. He frowned as he answered it. He had changed his number hours ago.

Jim picked up his mobile as he rolled his eyes. "Mr. Mycroft Holmes." He said evenly as he took another bite of the apple.

"Moriarty," Mycroft voice floated in as smooth as silk. "Since you enjoy games so much, did you enjoy mine?"

"Not particularly," Moriarty said. He took another slice of apple as he looked at Begension. Begension wept openly.

"Shut. Up!" Moriarty growled while glaring at the sniveling man. "Sorry about that," Moriarty apologized.

Begension bit his lips but was only able to quiet a little not stop. He whimpered and hiccuped to himself.

"Think nothing of it," Mycroft said evenly. "Well I hear you're busy, I just wanted to tell you something."

"And that would be?" Moriarty asked.

"As long as Sherlock occupies **your** full attention, you occupy **my **full attention." There was a pause. "Be careful Jim, before you become **my** obsession." There was another pause. "Well I have things to do, I'd better be off."

"Moriarty." Mycroft said casually.

"Holmes." Jim said as the line disconnected.

Jim felt an unfamiliar sensation run down his spine. Was it… fear, he wondered.

Jim giggled. "Tingly," he said as he wiped his lips. Lunchtime was over.

"Sorry about that." He said as he walked over to the man tied handcuffed to the chair. "Where were we?"

He was definitely not bored. Moriarty smiled at the man in the chair. His eyes almost seemed to glow.


	92. Chapter 92

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 92

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

*****.***T rated ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. **The Game…**

Busy times ahead of me so I wanted to get these to you.

1. I wrote several chapters so read all at once

Or

2. Section out the chapters until the weekend

Those on holiday, stay safe.

To the one of you who had a lose. I am thinking of you. :)

Note:

1. Beverly **Allitt**, born in the sixties, worked as a nurse and was one of Britain's most well know female serial killers.

2. A **skip **is a really big bin (trash container) which is for large amounts of rubble. Skips are hauled away by trucks.

3. An **Ambu bag** is a medical device used to provide assisted ventilation to people who are either not breathing or are having trouble breathing.

* * *

"_**The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination." ~**_

Tommy Lasorda

* * *

**Day Six**

John did not quicken his steps or say a word as he heard shouting.

John saw the two agents that were assigned at the door seated just outside the room. Their faces were unreadable. A nursing staff walked from the room so quickly, any faster would be considered a jog.

John exhaled noisily.

There was a loud crash.

A second medical worker exited the same room. This one was running.

He cursed silently as he tried not to spill the soup that Mrs. Hudson cooked for Sherlock as he quickened his steps.

John pursed his lips together as he walked into the room to find the walls decorated with food. He put the soup down on the table.

"You're getting stronger," John looked at the wall, "Your aim has improved," John, said as he walked toward the wall opposite the hospital bed. He studied the wall for a few seconds before speaking again.

"Can't I leave you alone for a minute?" John asked as he stood staring with folded arms.

"Apparently not." Sherlock said without humor as he sniffed with a superior look on his face.

"So…" Sherlock asked quietly as he tried and failed to sound casual and uninterested. "When do I get released from this prison?"

"You do realize that you could have died Sherlock, that you were in a coma and that your heart stopped for a few terrifying seconds?"

"Boring," Sherlock said with a trace of impatience and irritation in his voice as he dusted imaginary lint off his shoulder.

"Not boring Sherlock," John said quietly as he swallowed hard, "Not boring." John locked eyes with Sherlock. Sherlock frowned and looked at his feet as he moved them under the thin bed sheet. He had thrown the thicker blanket off hours ago.

John looked down himself then sighed before looking at Sherlock again. Sherlock seemed to be studying John, looking not just at him, but also almost through him.

"John," Sherlock's voice was surprisingly gentle now. "You were saying when I would be released."

"When you can stand Sherlock," It was John's turn to be irritable and he was not trying to hide it.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose as he looked toward his feet and gracefully pulled the covers off his legs.

The irritation abruptly left John's face as his eyebrows rose as well.

"What are you doing?" John had asked already knowing the answer.

"Standing," The younger Holmes said simply.

He wiggled his toes and bit his lips as he made an effort not to make a sound. The grimace on his face betrayed his discomfort.

"So you've been awake an entire sum of eleven hours. That, by the way, does not include the times you've napped, slept, or passed back out, and you think that you can just get up and dash about London?"

Sherlock said nothing but managed to get one foot sort if half way off the bed. He took a few seconds to catch his too fast breath as sweat started to pour down his neck, and forehead.

"Sherlock, even you can't be serious." John unfolded his arms and stepped closer.

"Time that I rally the troops, John." Sherlock said breathy. He was trying to sound cheerful but his panting ruined the desired effect.

Sherlock, having gotten his short rest, resumed his mission. He took his other hand and cheated by using it to help his other leg to the edge of the bed. He stopped now and seemed to be deep in thought. His breathing was still coming too quickly. He ignored it.

John was starting to worry and thought about calling the nurses. He eyed the call button on the side of Sherlock's hospital bed rail.

Sherlock seemed to have noticed where his eyes traveled and said. "Now John, let's not do anything that we will both regret." Sherlock looked proud at both feet that were off the bed. He put his hands behind his body and tested the strength of his arms.

John thought better of calling the nurses. No one could stop a determined Sherlock Holmes. Almost no one.

"**I'm calling Mycroft!" **John threatened in a loud voice. He took out his mobile and angrily pushed the keys and waited for it to connect.

"**John**!" Sherlock yelled back. "Don't you dare!" He hissed a little more quietly.

A nurse ran in the room. "Is everything alright?" There was alarm in her voice as she looked at the two men warily. Her eyes rested suspiciously on Holmes. Sherlock glared at her and opened his mouth to speak.

"Ms. Allitt, come to finish me off…" Sherlock started to say before John's voice stopped him. The nurse opened her mouth in shock.

"Oy," John muttered.

John quickly disconnected the mobile phone call without even thinking about the fact that he might have heard Mycroft's voice.

"Yes, all is fine. It's all fine." John said as he put on his most convincing smile. "Can I just have a minute with Mr. Holmes if you don't mind?"

Sherlock smirked at the nurse as John led her out by the elbow even as she was stuttering a protest. "And, a fine job you all are doing here," he said with a smile as he closed the door gently in the face of the nurse who still had her mouth partially opened.

John wordlessly walked back over to Sherlock, closed his eyes, counted to ten… slowly, then opened his eyes and stared.

At the look on John's face, Sherlock's smirk left. Sherlock cleared his throat and pushed his hands back even as he prepared to resume his work.

John quickly covered the short distance between him and Sherlock and stood a few yards away with his hand flexed by his side. He watched as Sherlock struggled and started to breathe fast again. He grunted in pain despite his best efforts to be quiet. He was fooling no one.

"I won't catch you. And, if you fall on your bum, don't expect me to pick you up… I'll just watch and laugh." John lied. He was already prepared to catch his annoying friend.

"Almost… there… John." Sherlock said with a breathless cheerfulness, as he gave one final push with his hands, and stood on severely shaky legs. His hands had a death grip on the side bed rails, and shook from the effort of helping to hold his body upright. His hands more than his legs, seemed to be keeping him from falling.

"I'm standing John." Sherlock said while he concentrated on not falling. The shaking was getting worse.

John squeezed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He now looked at Sherlock and almost whined. "You can't even walk Sherlock. Besides that, I'll give you two minutes with your stubborn nature, maybe, four before you collapse."

Sherlock was sweating profusely now. "J… John you said, and I do quote…, _When you can stand._" Sherlock hand slipped slightly. John jumped forward but Sherlock caught himself. His face was strained with effort.

"T… Technically I **am** standing. You did not say for how long and you did not mention walking as a condition."

John's eyes narrowed.

"Language is precise John… really." Sherlock scolded.

For a minute, John thought of letting him fall.

"Sherlock M. Holmes." An irritated voice from the doorway floated in.

Surprised, Sherlock momentarily lost his grip at the same time that his legs finally could not hold his weight any longer. John caught Sherlock and lowered him to the chair that was beside the hospital bed.

Sherlock sat in the chair. His shirt was sweat soaked now and he closed his eyes, and thinned his lips, against the pain as he attempted to even out his breathing. After several minutes, Sherlock opened his eyes. John and Mycroft were staring at him with crossed arms. They did not look happy. Sherlock frowned at first but then thought quickly as he put on his best fake smile.

"Sooooo. I stood. John said that I was fit to leave when I stood." Sherlock looked sweetly at Mycroft completely ignoring John. "Could you make arrangements, brother dear?"

Mycroft turned accusing eyes at John. John's eyes widen as he opened his mouth to defend himself but was cut short by Sherlock's voice.

"I don't need an exact time. Perhaps someone could bring me a suit and I could start to get dressed?"

Both Mycroft and John looked from Sherlock to each other. Both men at exactly the same time turned slowly to observe Sherlock, who looked a little too innocently back at them.

"Oh, is that soup?" They heard Sherlock ask.

* * *

**A/N: Lots of Love. Update as soon as possible. Let me know what you think.**


	93. Chapter 93

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 93

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you: mvignal (Jim does have a way of getting …revenge.), sevenpercent (Mycroft verses Moriarty, who will be left standing?), Bookworm Gal (Sherlock is a handful, but that is what makes him lovable… mostly), Dark magical Sorcres (Thank you for your comment), eohippus (Thanks for the multiple reviews. I would hate to have Moriarty irritated with me. I would also hate Mycroft to be irritated.), gemstone1234 (I am glad that you liked the quote. I hope your week was a good one.), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple reviews. I am glad that the event as seen through Mycroft eyes worked.), Danishprince (Take a huge breathe while you can. ) And to all guests and review, and PMs, thank you.

Thank you ; Bookworm Gal, Danishprince ,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippus , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, (Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , Danishprince, EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

***Warning. Violence in chapter 94***

*****.*** T rated but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

Note: A Mac is a laptop

…. Stalemate? …

* * *

One possible Stalemate tactic of chess ~

… Sometimes you will find yourself in a bad situation but your king has no moves. In this type of position your best idea would probably be to suicide your remaining pieces…

* * *

Mycroft stood outside the hospital room and inhaled noisily. He heard the raised voices and for one brief second thought about turning around and going the other way. The doctors had reluctantly released the younger Holmes. In reality, it took Mycroft Holmes intervention to _convince_ the physicians that Sherlock could recover at home just as well as in the hospital.

The agents outside the door did not look at their boss and pretended not to hear the commotion coming from the room.

Mycroft did not know whether to scowl or smile at his brother's antics. He thinned his lips. John would need reinforcements. Mycroft took his umbrella and pushed the door open slowly. The door screeched in protest, as a soft thud as it hit the back of the wall, sounded.

Neither man noticed the entrance of the elder Holmes.

"Sherlock, be reasonable. Your brother's working on the discharge. You know it takes time. The doctor wanted you to have one last blood transfusion. There are papers to sign. Transportation to arrange…" John's voice was frustrated.

"We can take a cab John…" Sherlock said with false calm.

"We cannot take a cab. You cannot even walk further than a yard. You shouldn't even be leaving the hospital yet…"

"Lestrade was discharged this morning!" The false calm left Sherlock's voice. One arm became animated. This earned him a grimace.

"What is this, a competition? Might I remind you that you were in a coma, and that you almost died?"

Sherlock was quiet and sniffed as he looked at the floor. "There is no need to be dramatic John; you do get a bit… emotional."

John glared with a murderous look in his eyes. "I normally have rules about strangling an injured person but for you, I might make an exception."

Sherlock now glared back at John with a sickly sweet smile. "Really, Doctor Watson? Well, let me put this in terms that you can understand. I want to leave. Now! Getting your knickers in a twist will not change that fact."

Mycroft's outstretched umbrella stopped John from advancing on Sherlock.

Mycroft looked as both men stared at one another. John was glaring at Sherlock, and Sherlock was smirking at John.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Missed me?" Neither man responded at first.

As he was talking, an agent wheeled a wheelchair into the room. Both men stopped staring at each other long enough to notice the wheelchair.

"What is that for?" Sherlock said as he looked offensively at the wheelchair.

"That," John said with an outstretched hand pointing at the wheelchair. "It's for you to sit your bum in so that you don't faint on the way out the door. It is required that you sit in it. **You know this Sherlock**!"

"We might not even need the wheelchair. Let me try." Sherlock grunted as he pushed himself to the edge of the hospital bed.

"Sherlock!" John said with a worried expression as he prepared to catch him, **again**.

Mycroft swiftly stepped closer and looked at John who stepped back. The agent also moved outside the room.

Sherlock stopped moving and looked casually at his brother. Mycroft just stared and said nothing for several minutes. Sherlock frowned. Mycroft bent down next to his brother's ear and spoke so quietly that only Sherlock could hear him.  
"Sherlock Holmes. You have successfully manipulated everyone around you. You have gotten everything that you have requested. Against my better judgment, that wheelchair is there to take you home a week before I should even consider it. Therefore, this is what you are going to do. We will assist you to sit in that chair. One of my cars will take you home. You will, if necessary be carried up the seventeen stairs to your flat without argument…"

Sherlock opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but was cut off by Mycroft.

"… And if I hear so much as an argument dear brother. I will walk out that door, and you will stay here for another week. "

There was a brief pause. "Before you give me an answer, I feel it my duty to inform you that should you continue to be … difficult, one of the nurses has an order to give you an enema. Or, is that several?" Mycroft smiled dangerously.

"You wouldn't dare." Sherlock said quietly as he searched Mycroft's face. Mycroft allowed him to search.

Sherlock frowned. He opened then closed his mouth. Thought, then opened it again.

"Well," Sherlock said still frowning. "I see."

He looked at John. "John would you mind helping me into the wheelchair?"

John looked at Mycroft and Sherlock with curiosity but quickly complied. "Sure Sherlock." John and an agent that seemed to materialize out of the air helped him onto the wheelchair. He was already partially dressed with trouser and shirt on, still, several long minutes passed as papers were packed and hallways walked through to make sure that it was safe.

Several agents with headsets on, surrounded Sherlock as they moved cautiously through the corridor, and toward the lift. Mycroft looked around consciously as they walked. John walked directly beside Sherlock with one hand on the back of his wheelchair at all times. He looked around with the practiced eyes of a soldier. Sherlock was weary but alert despite his fatigue. The tension was palpable. Everyone looked as the lift slowly opened.

* * *

Donovan sat in Lestrade's kitchen chair at the table. She glanced over to the DI. He was bruised and tired but that was not stopping him. He was conducting DI duties from his kitchen table. Officers were coming in and out with papers to sign and other things that needed approval and direction. She shook her head. He was tough.

He wasn't supposed to return to the Yard physically for four days. If she knew him at all, it would be two. She looked at him again. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

Her smaller hands came discreetly to his larger left hand.

"Sir," She spoke quietly, getting his attention, "It has been six hours straight. You need a break."

Lestrade looked at Sally and thought. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds then opened them rubbing. He looked back at the Mac on his table.

"I'm fine. I just need another coffee." He tried not to think about his choice of words, or the two empty coffee cups already on the table. He added. "Only four hours more."

Sally's back became straight. "Sir, you've already had two cups of coffee. You were supposed to have only one. You need tea instead and it's time for your medication." Sally did not realize that she had folded her arms. She added, "Myself and Grifton would like to stay, you need someone to help you Sir." She was fully in argument mode. Lestrade noticed her mood. He smiled and held up his hand in a partial surrender.

He thought for a moment. Maybe, it would not hurt to cut his hours down. He came to a compromise. "Tea, not coffee. One hour not four, bed sheets are in the closet. You and Grifton get to fight over the couch."

"Thank you Sir," She said with relief. The DI's mobile rang. Donovan picked it up and handed it to him as she stood to move over to the teapot.

"Lestrade," The was a sigh and a moment of silence. "I thought that he was supposed to stay another week?" There was more silence.

Sally was not eavesdropping, but she had been at the hospital all week. She would visit Holmes as well. She would never admit it, but it bothered her to see him so still and pale with all the machines, fluids and blood running into him. The image of John quietly reading and talking to Holmes was burned into her mind.

Later in the week, during her regular visits to Lestrade, she knew Holmes was awake when she noticed a nurse walking quickly from his room. She smiled at the memory as she heard Lestrade talking on the phone.

Sherlock was difficult , but he was one of them now, so was John. Everyone at the Yard took offense to someone kidnapping the DI. Such a thing was unheard of. They also took offense to Holmes being injured.

She returned in time to witness her DI hanging up the mobile. She had two cups of tea. She put one of the cups of tea in front of him.

"So," she said trying to sound casual as she added cream and sugar to her tea. "They are releasing Holmes today," She was proud of herself. She only called him _the Freak_ several times during the year now, and never with Doctor Watson around.

"It appears so," Lestrade said noncommittally.

"Poor Doctor Watson," Donovan said casually as she sipped at her tea.

Lestrade opened his mouth to rebuke her and tell her not to say such a thing but closed his mouth. He became conscious of the fact that he would be a hypocrite.

Greg sighed as he realized that he had thought the same thing. For once, he was happy that he could not be in the same room with an injured and bored Sherlock. He felt slightly guilty for smiling at the thought. He took a sip of tea.

Slightly.

Greg's smile became wider.


	94. Chapter 94

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 94

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

***Warning. Violence.***

*****.*** **M rated** ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. Stalemate? …

One possible Stalemate tactic of chess ~

… Sometimes you will find yourself in a bad situation but your king has no moves. In this type of position your best idea would probably be to suicide your remaining pieces…

* * *

**"I ask you to judge me by the enemies I have made.**" ~Franklin D. Roosevelt

* * *

The man could not hold in the groan any longer as he slid back down the wall when he was suddenly released by Moriarty's guards. His rubbery legs were unable to bear his weight. Moriarty sat in his chair as he observed the afternoon's activities. He looked emotionlessly at the man, as he was tortured.

More of Moriarty's 'boys' appeared quite suddenly and pulled the agent, non-too gently, back to his feet. With a swift kick to the back of his legs he was soon kneeling, his arms wrenched behind his back. He bit his lips to keep from crying out. It would not work much longer. Several grunts of pain despite his best efforts, escaped.

The sound of air being expelled from the agent's lungs, as he fought for air, reverberated in the space. Pain radiated from his abdomen outward as each strike seemed more violent than the rest. The agent ground his teeth together, as he fought for both air and to maintain consciousness. He blinked away the blood and grit from his eyes. He tried to focus on a point in his mind to decrease the pain as his training taught him.

"Enough," Moriarty said quietly. The main guard that was beating the agent stepped back. Blood spatter was on the man's suit and the main torturer heaved heavily as he rested from the energy that was exerted to beat the bloodied man.

Moriarty walked up to the kneeling agent. He touched one finger and raised the head of the exhausted man. "Ready to talk yet," Moriarty said almost conversationally.

The agent said nothing.

"Come now. You're about to hurt my feelings. I ask you some simple questions. I know that Mycroft Holmes is hiding something. No man could be that clean. What were you doing in Dubai? That's a long way from England. What business does Mycroft Holmes have there?"

The agent said nothing. Moriarty looked at the bloodied and still body of the other agent on the floor close to the far wall. He had been the example. He then looked back at the kneeling agent hoping to make a wordless point.

The agent stared back in what he hoped was a defiant way. In reality, his face looked like he had a grimace on it.

Moriarty violently and suddenly struck the agent on the side of his face making his head spin. The ring on Moriarty's finger opened up a new laceration on his face. It somehow found one of the few places that was not bruised or cut. A new trail of blood slowly found its own path down his face. He spit saliva mixed with blood on the floor.

One of Moriarty's men briskly walked down the stairs and over to Moriarty. He handed a syringe with an injection to the guard next to Moriarty.

"Well, let's try something new." Moriarty nodded and two guards firmly held one shoulder each to keep the struggling agent on his knees.

"This drug will help you be, shall we say, more cooperative with the truth." One guard had torn the agent's already bloody and tattered shirt open to the top of his arm.

"I know what you're thinking," Moriarty said as he straightened his body upright. "You're probably trained to withstand drugs but I assure you, not this one."

"You're going to tell me everything I want to know without realizing what you're doing. I know what you're thinking. Your boss is disgustingly loyal and I am sure that they will try to find you, but by the time they do, you will either be dead, or I might be kind and leave you alive…ish. Still doesn't matter. I'll know everything I want."

"Or..." Moriarty's eyes were deadly.

"I could keep you alive for them to find. You agree to work for me. You become my plant. This arrangement would evolve a great deal of money. You tell me what I want to know. You'll save me a great deal of time and you a great deal of torture. They'll never know where the information came from." Moriarty tried to keep a straight face and not giggle. "You have my word."

"What is your decision?" Moriarty asked with a repressed smile on his face.

The agent clinched his jaw at an odd angle. Moriarty frowned suddenly as the agent's body started to sag, his eyes rolled at the same time that white foam dripped out of his mouth. The agent dropped dead on the floor.

Moriarty raised an eyebrow as his men backed up and waited for further orders. They were not sure how Moriarty would react. Each man discreetly tried to position himself so that they were not the closes one physically to Moriarty.

Moriarty sat down and wiped his hand on the hand towel handed to him as he took a sip of tea calmly. Everyone waited for the explosion from their boss.

"Interesting, it was not suicide. If it were, he would have used the poisonous capsule long ago. No, the agent considered this the same as a soldier who falls on top of a grenade to save his fellow soldiers." Moriarty paused to take another sip of tea and smiled. "Got ya."

Moriarty took out his mobile and placed a call. He was hungry. Time for lunch. The call was answered in one ring. "What secrets are in Dubai that is worth dying to protect? Find me the answer."

Moriarty got up, buttoned his suit and walked toward the stairs.

"Um, Sir, what do we do with the bodies?" One of the guards asked with hesitation.

"Dump the bodies somewhere that they can be found. Mr. Holmes has this thing about burying his men," Moriarty said while waving his hands in the air dramatically. "Of course…," he said as he started up the stairs. "…It would only be polite to leave a note."

Moriarty's legs then feet gradually disappeared from view as he walked up the stair slowly then disappeared completely.

Several breaths were heard being exhaled in relief from several places in the basement level.


	95. Chapter 95

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 95

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

…. Stalemate? …

* * *

**"Our success or failure, peace or discontent, happiness or misery, depend on the choices we make each day." ~ ****N. Eldon Tanner**

* * *

Mrs. Miranda Holmes thought lovingly about her sons as she looked out the window of her small office and sipped at her tea. She raised one hand tenderly as she caressed the picture frame of the smiling young lads. One was skinny and all legs, and arms. Those same skinny arms were around the shoulders of a slightly overweight, and normally much more stoic brother. However, not in that picture. Sherlock had somehow gotten the normally expressionless sibling to not only smile, but to smile broadly.

She looked from the picture to outside the window. It would be a lovely day. She sipped on her tea again. It helped to warm her.

Her boys had a rough time of it for years. They seemed to be at each other's throats. They grew up to be total opposites. Sherlock with his reckless behavior, and Mycroft with his overbearing ways. It was almost as if Sherlock was testing his brother.

The last year it seemed as if they remembered what she always knew, that they needed each other. She stopped worrying as much.

The past year, Mycroft made an effort not to be as overbearing and Sherlock made an effort to be more considerate. She smiled again. Well, her Sherlock did **try **to be more considerate. John, bless him, was good for her son. Their friendship seemed to remind him that he was human after all. She was quite fond of John.

Her smile faded as she sighed. She was starting to worry again. Sherlock would normally call or text to say that he was alright once every two weeks. The text was a few days late a month ago. Sherlock was never late before.

Well once, she would rather not think about that one other time.

She realized that during that same period, she could not reach Mycroft for a day. The agent that was assigned to her assured her that all was OK. However, she had come to know the young woman. Something in the female agent's eyes told her the opposite of what her words said.

She sipped almost finishing her tea as she glanced at the teacup. She looked at the delicate navy blue and white floral patterns of the bone white china set. It was one of the few things that she was allowed to bring to her new life when she had recovered from her latest illness. She was healthy now and they even used the words cured. She has not felt this good in a decade. Money has its advantages. She frowned as she thought about all those who deserve the level of care that she had received medically, but could not afford it. She had once been such a person until she married into the Holmes fortune. Her two sons were the only thing that made her not regret that fact.

Her mind returned to Sherlock.

His, _I am Ok_, text arrived as normal, so, why was she so concerned?

She looked in her cup. It was empty. Did she want more?

A knock on her door pulled her thoughts into the here and now.

"Yes," Miranda said casually, "Come in."

A middle-aged woman poked her head just inside the door. "You have a visitor, Professor Colville," the middle-aged woman smiled before adding. "He is rather gorgeous although a bit young for me." With a wink, she was off.

Miranda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She already knew who it was. She walked over to pour herself another cup of tea. She then poured a second cup and added nothing to that one. He preferred his tea plain.

A few moments past before a tall and fit man in a suit walked in. She nodded to the chair and he sat. He noticed the tea and with a nod took a sip. She said nothing but noticed when he both closed the door and took out a small electrical device and turned it on.

She looked the agent up and down as she thought quietly. Her sharp mind was similar to her sons. Small details flowed as broken images and partially remembered conversations fit together to complete a puzzle, making it into a finished picture.

"That's a lot of precautions for a woman the world believes to be dead, Thomas." Miranda studied his eyes and body language for a reaction.

"I've come to take advantage of your gracious hospitality again Mrs. Holmes." Thomas looked directly into her eyes as he avoided straightforwardly answering her implications. He schooled his features. He almost smiled. Her subtle conversations were like being interrogated. He would have to be careful. He could easily see where the Holmes brothers got their minds.

Miranda was used to her family not married name now. If he called her Holmes, he felt safe doing so,

"Increase level of threat, no one knows that I am alive yet, or I would be moved to another location. Unless," She looked in his eyes, "Moving me now is more dangerous. You're trying to hide me in plain sight. There is a possibility that they might find out. My only question is, who are they?"

She did not expect an answer. Her fingertip played with the edge of the teacup.

"How is Sherlock Holmes? Mycroft is alright. I spoke to him a few days ago. But, I also could tell that he was concerned about something… Maybe, it was someone."

Thomas purposely took a slow sip of tea. He knew Mrs. Holmes well enough to know that saying Mycroft would contact her would have her on the first airplane the consequences be damned.

"He is in no immediate danger. Mycroft and Doctor Watson are with him. He should be arriving at his flat any minute now." Technically all true, Thomas said to himself.

It was Miranda's turn to take a slow sip as she thought. "Shouldn't you be with Sherlock now? I would feel better if you were there if there are… difficulties." Miranda asked sincerely.

"Both Holmes brothers wanted me here." Thomas looked reassuringly.

Miranda Colville- Holmes sighed again in surrender. Mycroft knew what he was doing. She trusted him completely. If he sent Thomas to her, he would keep his brother out of trouble.

"How long will you stay this time Thomas, and how closely will you have to stay near me?" She put her cup down. She was all business now.

"For the foreseeable future, for one week as a minimum." Thomas answered. "I will have to keep you in my direct vision at all times, except when you are asleep. Agent Perkins will continue to watch you at night as always.

"Meet your new graduate assistant." Thomas said casually.

"Stand," Miranda said as she sipped and gestured with one finger. Thomas frowned but stood.

She put down her cup and stood as well. She appeared to be deep in thought. "You're young enough to be believable as a graduate assistant, but I must tell you that most people your age do not wear designer suits all the time."

There was a slight pause. "That settles it!" She sat as though she had found the answer to a scientific mystery. "Blue jeans and casual shirts with one casual jacket." She smiled. "Can you suffer through wearing that Thomas?"

"I can," He said with a sincere smile now.

She smiled back before a look of seriousness returned. "How is Sherlock really?" She already decided that she was going to have Thomas arrange for her to speak to both Mycroft and Sherlock. She needed to hear their voices, not a text. Her eyes pleaded with him for honesty.

Thomas face wore a real smile. "Last I checked he was being a pure terror Mrs. Holmes."

Miranda exhaled in relief and smiled. That was her Sherlock.

* * *

Agents had to lift Sherlock up the seventeen flights of stairs at Baker Street. Sherlock opened his mouth as if to protest but a raised eyebrow from Mycroft, silenced his brother. Despite his protest, the journey home seemed to take all his energy. Sherlock was deposited on the couch and covered with a blanket. Mrs. Hudson had a fuss over him. He fell asleep within minutes from exhaustion. Sherlock sweat soaked clothing and facial grimace betrayed the fact that the journey was not as easy as he had anticipated. He was allowed to rest on the couch for a few hours before the same agents carried him from the couch to his bedroom.

"He will be more comfortable, now that he is in his bedroom," John said.

Mycroft prepared to leave. He spoke distractedly.

"Agents are outside. Mrs. Hudson agreed to have one sleep in her spare bedroom for a few days. Lestrade has two agents guarding him as well as his own people from the Yards. That Donovan is apparently staying with him." Mycroft sent a text and took a few seconds to read one. John was surprised to notice that Anthea was not beside Mycroft. The two almost seemed to be joined at the hip. He looked at the agent that was sitting by the window. He had pulled up a chair there and sat quietly. He almost forgot that he was in the room. The other agent was in Mrs. Hudson apartment. They would take shifts.

John frowned. "Anything that I need to know Mycroft?"

Mycroft stopped the texting and gave John his full attention. "Moriarty was not finished… playing for lack of a better word. He was going to send Sherlock off on another round. I have however, distracted him temporarily. The results were that I made an insane genius both intrigued and angry."

Mycroft looked toward his brother's bedroom. "Sherlock was not physically strong enough for another round." Mycroft looked at the wall for a moment. "I am trying to stay one-step ahead of him John. Moriarty is the only one that I have found that task even remotely challenging."

"I am not sure if Moriarty realized that Sherlock gave himself the poison instead of you. As a precaution I had false medical records put there that said that you were the one treated for the poison, not Sherlock. I have a feeling that another **lesson **would have resulted if Sherlock did something Moriarty considered to be… foolish."

"I have poked the bear in the side with a stick John." He looked John in the eyes now. "I felt I had no choice."

John looked back for a moment without saying a word. Mycroft showed a lot of trust by even admitting aloud that Moriarty was a challenge. Both Holmes brothers have come far, not just Sherlock.

"You did the right thing Mycroft considering the circumstances that you were given." John shook his head and frowned against the memory. "He was dying Mycroft. I am personally not sure how he even stayed upright for so long."

Mycroft closed his eyes briefly and nodded. His mask of indifference then fell back into place. "Keep your gun and mobile close by John. I've given you a new jacket to wear. It is similar in style to your old one. You should wear it whenever you leave the flat. I've also cleaned Sherlock's coat. It is hanging behind the door in his room. I will be out the country for a few days, it is unavoidable I am afraid." Mycroft turned to leave but a hand touched the wrist of the man that near everyone was afraid to touch.

"Mycroft, be careful, keep Anthea close by." John said with sincerity.

"Anthea and Myers will be accompanying me. Myers will return first and help secure this location in my absence." Mycroft looked into John's eyes.

"I'll be careful," Mycroft added amused.

John, satisfied, finally nodded and stepped back.

Mycroft retrieved his coat and put it on to leave. "Is Thomas going as well? Were you able to track Adler?" John asked suddenly.

"No John, Thomas has other matters to attend to for now." There was a pause. "In regards to the latter question, sorry John, but no. Ms. Adler is currently on her own." John frowned but nodded.

With a final nod to John, Mycroft was out the door.

John listened to the door close. He looked toward Sherlock's bedroom. If anyone wanted to get to Sherlock, they would have to go through him first. He walked toward his gun.

* * *

Moriarty was waiting for a call. As Moriarty was being driven, his mobile rang. He picked it up and answered, "Yes."

* * *

Lots of love to all, Zacha

Update ASAP


	96. Chapter 96

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 96

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you: Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple reviews. I hope that you are well. I admit guiltily that I would have taken the picture as well.), MapleleafCameo, (I love Thomas as well :) Kitiara88 (Thanks for your review. Here is more.), Bookworm Gal (The words, I'm Bored, should put terror into the heart of all there.), Natalia (Don't die Natalia, Live!), gemstone1234 (A massive thank you to a wonderful writer, thanks love.), Puky2012 (More tension, and suspense ahead.), Catie501 (Thanks for the multiple reviews. With a determined Sherlock, God help the world.), eohippus (Thanks for the multiple reviews. Moriarty and secrets. Hum.), Voldemort101 (I hope that you are well. Thank you for all you do.), bruderlein (Now you know what the M. In Sherlock M. Holmes stands for.) And to all guests and review, and PMs, thank you.

Thank you ; eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, (Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

"…Stalemate is when your opponent cannot legally move any of their pieces, but their king is not under attack. That's a draw (no one wins)"

…. Our New Game …

* * *

"_**Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own **_

_**sunshine."**_~Ralph Waldo Emerson

* * *

_**Over One Year Ago. **_

He lost his false smile as he briskly walked up the stairs. He was the first allowed up here. He automatically dressed and put on the blue cloth jumper. He folded his reading glasses into the inside of his dress shirt pocket. The crime scene was flooded with agents and some Scotland Yarders. If experience has taught him anything, it was that soon someone with a suit, and an official sounding title, would say something along the lines of, _turn everything over to us, we'll take it from here. Thank you for your help, even though we think that we are better than you, because, you're all twats._

His anger burned inside him. Anderson did put down the carrying case with a little more of a thud than he should have. He looked at his case with anxiety and opened it quickly. He sighed with relief as he looked inside and saw that nothing was broken. He looked around to confirm what he already knew. Everyone was busy removing the dead bodies on the other floors. He already examined the scenes on the lower levels and gave the approval for them to start moving everything including the bodies. The injured law officers and one agent were already transported to receive medical care. None of the terrorist had survived.

After glancing around, he took a quick sip of the dark brown liquid. It burned pleasantly on its way down. He quickly sprayed a minty burst into his mouth and swirled it around with his tongue. He looked around guiltily again.

Sherlock Holmes.

It was Holmes fault that he has been so tightly wind-up lately. The arrogant sod was always making him look like a fool. It was not his fault that he misplaced the evidence for the Moore's case, it could have happened to anyone. Did the freak have to first notice that something was missing, and then have to point it out to everyone in the entire room?

He smiled his first real smile as he used his newly gloved hand to push the door open. He stepped into the room after removing the tape, and seal. He walked on the edge of the room to decrease the footprints that would be in the middle.

Sherlock Holmes would not be outshining him today.

He walked around the room. It was a long, moderate size space. It was almost empty. A few scattered pieces of furniture were pushed to the edges of the room. In the far corner there was a substantial, and long desk. Probably, this space was an office at one time.

He frowned when he looked around. The body was close to the door. A well-built, middle-aged man was lying on the floor, with the gun in his hand, and a hole in his head. The blood under his head, and vacant stare, was an indication that there was nothing that could be done for this man.

He mechanically went through the motions, gathered the evidence, and gave it to a Yarder who disappeared out the door.

He changed his gloves and walked around the room now.

He thought about how Holmes had looked earlier just outside the building. Something nagged at his mind.

Holmes had appeared disheveled, and bruised with open wounds on his chin, and lower lip. He remembered something that was on the tip of his mind. Holmes shirt. Anderson mouth opened as his eyes widened.

"Buttons," Anderson whispered to himself.

He walked quietly to the door and shut it softly. He then looked around the room. He walked to the far end of the room and noticed a little smaller area that was unnoticeable from the main area of the room. It was much too small to be an attached room, so it must have been used as a storage space, at one time. A desk squeezed into it.

Anderson entered the small space.

He looked on the floor, and his eyes widened as he saw what was on the floor. He stepped onto the blanket without thought as he pieced together the crime scene. A part of his mind was screaming that everything that he was doing was against protocol. He silenced that voice inside that has been telling him lately that he was doing wrong. He had gotten proficient at quieting the voice now.

His fingers ignored everything else as he picked up a button. There were many more that had been forcefully projected into unexpected places. He saw a bag on the floor, and his eyes widened when he looked inside the bag on the floor. He noticed it then. Just under the desk as if someone had put it there purposely. He slowly picked it up even though it was against all the training that he had been through. He pushed the button then turn the device off.

His heart started to race.

_This is evidence. Turn them in right away._ The voice on the inside said. The voice was more persistent than usual today.

"I'm just curious," Anderson whispered out loud. "I'll turn them both in before I leave."

His mind, with fresh eyes, looked at the events of the last thirty five-minutes. Holmes, as he passed him leaning against the building outside, was obviously in pain. He seemed to be waiting for that equally pathetic soldier flatmate of his, Watson, to come. The man seemed to be glued to his side.

Anderson noticed that Holmes refused all medical care. This, despite the fact that he looked as if he was trying to make up his mind about what was his priority, throwing up or fainting.

He was about to walk up to Holmes and verbally torment the man, but the agent, what was his name?

Thomas, that was the name.

Thomas was guarding the freak, and looked as if he would shoot him if he dared to come close to the man. Besides, Anderson learned the hard way that even a seemly injured Holmes was still dangerous. He rubbed his head at the memory of the last time that he forgot this fact.

He hesitated guiltily as he looked around the room. He should be finishing up now. He pushed the_ play_ button on the device and listened for a few second, before a forceful hit on the device stopped it. He swallowed and flushed slightly as he looked around paranoid that someone heard the barely audible sounds. His mind worked as he brought his breathing down. He quickly pulled out his mobile to call someone to take the two things that he found to the agents and to alert them to the small, room, storage space, whatever it was.

His hand froze after he pushed three numbers on his mobile. He hung up and put his mobile phone away. An idea was born of jealousy, and insecurity, and his new found secret habit with the bottle.

It was twisted, and sick, and wrong, and perfectly evil. To bring down, to humiliate the virtually untouchable man, the great Sherlock Holmes excited him.

He stood perfectly still as two parts of himself warred.

He had a choice to make.

Seconds later, Anderson suddenly moved with a burst of speed that was unusual for him. He removed the two objects from the room discreetly, and hid them in his bag. The combination of fear and anticipation made him tremble slightly. He almost could not zip up the bag due to his shaking fingers.

Something was telling him to stop, that it was not too late.

_You are a sworn officer of Scotland Yard. You took an oath to protect. You've never done anything illegal in your life. This is not just wrong morally, it's illegal,_ the voice pleaded.

"Sod off," he quietly hissed to that voice inside as he increased the speed of his movements.

He realized that he could lose his job if anyone found out. For some reason, taking the risk only made him more excited. He had been feeling dead lately anyway.

He quickly finished the room. Just as he walked out removing his gloves and putting them in the Biohazard bin, he almost walked into two agents.

He made his expression blank and looked at them.

Should I smile, he asked himself.

_No, don't be an idiot, you're supposed to be sad_, he told himself in reply.

"Sorry," Anderson said with a professional face.

"I am Agent Evens," the man said as he seemed to look him up and down. "I need everything that you collected as evidence today, and all paperwork."

"You're taking over?" He asked as he tried to sound conversational.

"Yes," The agent said simply again. The other agent that was not speaking peeked into the room and back at the man. Anderson heard other voices. They sounded as if they had finished the other floors and were heading up to the floor that he was currently on.

"Well right." He pointed to the container on the floor. "The samples are in that container over there. Rooms behind me of course." He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. "Well, I'd better be off," Anderson tried not to run.

As he turned to leave a hand came up to his shoulder and stopped him."Why are you shaking so much, is there anything that we need to know?" Anderson swallowed as he now noticed the slight tremors that adrenaline caused in his body. He thought quickly. When lying to his wife, soon to be ex-wife he corrected, a partial truth always worked the best.

"I'm just a little shaken up. I know Mr. Holmes, it's just difficult…" He purposely made his voice trail off. He looked down for effect.

Anderson made a show of clearing his throat. "Oh, I already sent some of the evidence to our lab." He added trying to draw the attention off of himself.

The agent's stony face softened "We already intercepted it."

That was shockingly quick, he thought. For a few seconds, doubt entered Anderson again. He quickly pushed it away.

Anderson nodded and picked up his bag as he walked away. He smiled with his back turned to them. He would show everyone that he wasn't an idiot. His feet sounded against the concrete in rhythm as he briskly stepped down the stairs. He fingered the button in his pocket. Why not, he thought. Holmes did not need it. That expensive shirt of his was already ruined.

* * *

A/N: References to Deleted Memories chapter 124, 126, and 163 made.


	97. Chapter 97

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 97

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

"…Stalemate is when your opponent cannot legally move any of their pieces, but their king is not under attack. That's a draw (no one wins)

…. Our New Game …

* * *

"Toughness is in the soul and spirit, not in muscles." ~ Alex Karras

* * *

_**Present Day**_

_**Present Times**_

Both men made their way slowly to the living room. The fact that Sherlock was leaning heavily on John was an indicator of how weak the normally independent Consultant Detective was.

"Almost there," John said encouragingly. He understood that being in his room day and night on his best day would drive Sherlock to irritation. Today was not his best day. Sherlock did not say anything, but concentrated on walking.

They finally made it to the couch and gracelessly sat down. Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed in and out deeply as he tried to bring his traitorous body under control.

Finally, after a few minutes, he opened his eyes and spoke in a breathy voice. "See… John… I told you that I was able to do it."

John raised his eyebrows and looked at Sherlock as he smiled. "How could I ever doubt you Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock smiled then chuckled at the use of his last name.

John looked at Sherlock. The side of his face had a hint of a bruise that had started to change colors. His body looked the same with bruises in different stages of healing. He was pale on his best days, but he looked almost ghostly today. Still, Sherlock was a fast healer and doing well. The fact that he was bored was a healthy sign. John also had a feeling that Sherlock had some sort of mischief planned, he just could not figure out what that was yet.

John raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Save that innocent look for someone who doesn't know you Sherlock, you're not fooling anyone. What's this about? What mischief have you planned for us today?"

Sherlock looked at John smiling. "Can't I get a little exercise without you becoming suspicious?"

John snorted but did not say a word. The strange sound caused Sherlock to chuckle again.

He stopped chuckling but held on to his smile and looked into John's eyes. "Thank you John."

John waited for the unintended insult that always followed a compliment. It did not come.

John frowned. He looked Sherlock up and down more closely.

"I'm fine John." Sherlock said with what was supposed to be an annoyed look. It lost its intimidation as he stifled a yawn.

Sherlock stiffened and gasped as he closed his eyes and clutched his head. He heard John calling his name. John's voice sounded far away.

Sherlock had an image in his mind of himself in a room. Within seconds, the pain was gone but the image remained.

"… Sherlock are you Okay?" John's voice floated in. John had one hand on his mobile prepared to dial.

"No John, I'm fine." Sherlock said as he tried to blink away the last of the headache.

John looked at him carefully and took his pulse before he exhaled noisily and put his mobile away. "A memory?" John asked with one hand on his shoulders.

"I saw a picture of myself sitting on the floor, in some room, with one of those shock blankets covering me. I saw you, Lestrade, and Mycroft standing over me. I was injured. I think that this situation was so similar that it triggered a memory." Sherlock looked at John.

"That happened Sherlock, but it was a year ago." John hesitated. Mycroft warned him not to tell Sherlock information unless he was there but to allow the memories to come back naturally.

"Do you remember anything else?" John asked casually.

"No," Sherlock said with some frustration. "Only that scene. I have no memory of anything before or anything after that single memory."

John nodded thinking. He took Sherlock pulse again. Sherlock allowed him to and bit back the comment about overreacting. He knew when John was in full doctor mode. Moments later, John was satisfied that Sherlock was no worse off physically than he was before the single memory came back.

"John, Mycroft was correct. If these symptoms were because of one small out of place memory, then it would be most unpleasant if everything came back at one time." Sherlock and John both looked toward the door as the doorbell rang.

John glanced at Sherlock and then glanced at his gun. Sherlock looked concerned for a moment then relaxed.

"The pressure on the doorbell was two seconds in length yet firm. It's a delivery." Sherlock announced.

John did not question Sherlock but listened to the voices down the stairs. An agent sat by the downstairs door. That agent talked with someone at the door and then they both listened as the door closed again. An agent inspected the package and ran an electrical device over the package before he brought it up to the flat and gave it to John. The agent quickly left the room and returned to his post.

John looked at the delivered item strangely then walked it over to Sherlock. He put it on the table next to him. Sherlock grimaced as he swung his legs around so that they were now on the wooden floor and not the couch.

The room had flowers in different areas of it. The word got out that Holmes and Watson were injured slightly and well wishers including the Scotland Yarders, to Sherlock's surprise , sent flowers. Watson's blog had over a thousand people sending well wishes. That was why the look on Sherlock's face caught John's attention. Sherlock examined the delivery with as much concentrated effort as he would at a crime scene. That is when John made the call to Lestrade.

John after the call waited for Sherlock to finish when the doorbell rang again.

"Lestrade should not be out this soon," Sherlock muttered to himself without turning his attention from the package in front of him. Two sets of footsteps were heard coming up the stairs. Within a minute, Lestrade and Donovan walked through the door with case files in their hands. John looked at the files and folded his hands as he looked at Sherlock, he did not scold him, however.

Lestrade walked in looking good. There were still bruises that had changed in color to indicate their stages of healing on his body and face, but his gait was strong. He walked over to Sherlock as Sherlock wordlessly moved over to make room for him to sit.

Donovan felt odd being in their flat and was relieved when John smiled and motioned for her to sit in a chair. She tried not to stare at Holmes, but she had never seen him in anything other than a designer suit. He was wearing a blue night pajama shirt and trouser with a dark blue striped dressing gown over it.

Sally looked around quietly. The last time that she was in his flat, the circumstances were not pleasant. Her face fell on the blood red roses that were in front of Holmes and sat on the table. There were flowers of different types scattered around, but none were as lovely as the roses. They were blood red and looked almost like velvet. They were in the most exquisite looking crystal vase that she had ever seen. She looked at the vase closer. Her eyes opened slightly. The roses were not just in any vase, they were in an expensive Waterford crystal vase. She was curious but said nothing. She frowned when she noticed Holmes face.

Lestrade was silent for a moment. He knew the face that Sherlock made when he was figuring something out.

After a few minutes, Sherlock spoke again but still did not look at anyone. "You should have had Donovan bring over those case files. You should be resting not running all over the city or back at Scotland Yard so soon." Sherlock read the attached note.

Every eye in the room looked at him. Holmes could feel the eyes burning into the side of his head.

Holmes tore his eyes away from the flowers and attached note for the first time. "Yes, I am a hypocrite. That is an established fact. Can we crack on?" Sherlock asked with a false tight smile.

"Now that you admit the obvious, I think so," Lestrade said with an equally false smile. He lost the fake smile as his face became serious. Lestrade pointed with his head at the roses in question.

"A get well wish," Sherlock said sarcastically. "One rose for each letter of my name. The color is both a compliment and a warning. Everything is a clue about the next… game." Sherlock opened his mouth to say more but closed it.

John walked over to Sherlock. Sherlock looked up at him and handed him the note. John read it and frowned.

"What does it say?" Lestrade asked.

John said nothing but looked at Sherlock first. His eyes sought Sherlock's eyes as he asked wordlessly for permission. Sherlock looked back at him. John looked at the note and spoke again.

**"Red is a good look for you. It stands out against your pale flesh. Get Well. M.**"

John had put down the note and joined everyone as they stared at the roses.

"John, those are such lovely flowers and such a fascinating crystal vase, I think that they deserve a distinct place of honor." Sherlock looked at John.

"I have just the spot mate," John took up the roses and walked out of view in the kitchen. Everyone heard the sound of the crystal vase as it was broken, when the roses and vase made contact with the rubbish bin.


	98. Chapter 98

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 98

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

"…Stalemate is when your opponent cannot legally move any of their pieces, but their king is not under attack. That's a draw (no one wins)

Checkmate is when your opponent's king is under attack, and they have no legal moves that can stop the attack. That's a win (for you)…"

…. Our New Game …

* * *

"Diplomacy is the art of saying "Nice doggie" until you can find a rock." ~ Will Rogers

* * *

_**Present Day**_

_**Present Times**_

_**Vienna, Austria**_

He sat crossed legged in the restaurant located in the elegant Le Meridien Vienna Hotel. It was located on the famous Ringstrasse. He sighed. He was a walk away from the Vienna State Opera. It had been some time since he was able to attend an opera; he would not, even if he could. He did not want to be away from Sherlock now.

The man who was referred to as the British Government, took a bit of his Black Pudding and sipped on his tea as he waited. His mind took in and looked at everything. He kept his face toward the door purposely to assess any possible threats that might present themselves today. The man he was to meet had insisted on a public place.

He looked around.

He usually stayed in the Hotel Bristol Vienna when in Vienna, but his current hotel served his needs better. He ignored the organized noise. There were couples who happily talked as well as friends, and families.

He looked out of the window by his table and noticed a mother walking with her children. His eyes fell on a dark haired lad of five years walking by. He was holding his mother's hand. His older brother and younger sister walked beside him. He dropped some food that he was eating on his trouser leg. His mother with a smile took a napkin and wiped it off. She smiled at him, and the young child giggled freely. The child suddenly seemed to remember that he was supposed to be quiet. He smiled instead after stifling a round of giggles that threatened to break free. They started to walk again.

The sight made Mycroft smile. The young boy reminded him of Sherlock at that age. He was always smiling and laughing. He was the one person who was able to make Mycroft laugh as undignified as their father thought that laughing was. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes. Mycroft was all business in seconds.

A slightly bend over, older gray haired gentlemen walked up, and sat down next to Mycroft. He looked at the bowl of fresh fruits, and cakes in front of him, and raised an eyebrow. Mycroft motioned with his hand elegantly while his other hand found the end of his ever-present umbrella. He rested his hand on the handle. The older man wordlessly took the smaller plate and filled his plate full of fresh fruit and dessert. Mycroft gave him a few minutes to eat before he looked at him.

He looked at Mycroft and sighed. "It is as you said." The older man spoke with a thick accent but perfect English. "I do not know who is your source but he was positively correct."

The older man took the time to put the last bit of a particularly tasty treat in his mouth. He wiped a piece of crumb that fell on his beard away casually. "In four countries that I have checked so far, someone highly motivated got some of the computer codes for missiles and the codes to activate and aim military hardware."

The older man seemed to get excited as he spoke. "No one would have noticed until it was too late. Someone, group, or organization came into possession of the codes then tested their ability to use them by hiding them in subcodes. By the way, if someone had not been looking, we would have found out about it too late."

He finally finished eating. "All of the missiles were nonnuclear and pointed at low population areas. It was as if this was some kind of test." The older man wiped his hands on his handkerchief. "Here Mr. Smith," he handed the piece of paper to Mycroft. Mycroft took it and frowned as he put it in his inner pocket. The older man lived long enough to know that he was probably not named Mr. Smith. Both men chose to pretend that the other was not aware of this fact.

The man rose from his chair and resumed his slightly bent over form. "Until next time, Mr. Smith." He was about to turn away, but stopped. "If I were you, I would go to whoever gave you the original information, and have him or her dig further. If that person had the skill to find out about this little problem, I am sure that that person can find out about what the next move will be." The man walked out then without looking back.

Mycroft thought for a few minutes. Mycroft barely nodded, and the restaurant noise suddenly stopped. Men and women, young and old stood up and quietly exited. Mycroft was left alone with Anthea sitting at a table in one corner. She nodded as she finished her iced tea. Myers was in the opposite corner and finishing her coffee.

Mycroft thought about what to do next. It was actually an excellent idea. To go back to the one that had given him the information about the missiles in the first place. There was only one problem with that plan. That person was recovering in 221B and had two years worth of memories missing. Among those forgotten memories were the very particular plans of a deranged madman named Moriarty.

* * *

_**One Week Later**_

John walked into the sitting room and spoke as he went along. "Sherlock which case files do you want?" John asked as he walked back into the area after fifteen minutes of searching.

There was no answer.

"Sherlock where is…" John stopped when he saw his friend and flatmate asleep on the couch with one case file on his stomach and one lying on the floor next to the place where his hand had dropped it.

John shook his head and smiled. Sherlock looked good. He was getting stronger. John removed the file from on top of his dress shirt and put it on the table. He walked down to visit Mrs. Hudson.

* * *

She walked into the building and took a table as she looked around. She brushed the drops of water off of her jacket as she walked toward a table. She made an impatient sound when she sat down.

After she sat down, she looked at herself in the mirror. She sighed. She had forgotten her umbrella. The sudden downpour caused her to look like a drowned rat. She thought for a moment and unbuttoned one button on her blouse. If he were busy looking down, maybe he would not notice her hair.

"Hello," the man in the suit said as he sat down moments later. "Miss Kitty Riley?"

"The one and only," She said smoothly.

"I am sure you're wondering what I have asked you here for." The man asked.

He had a handsome face. There was what appeared to be a scar on his cheek, but it was difficult to tell except up close because of the goatee beard that he wore.

She decided that she liked his smile. "I was curious. Most people, shall we say, have a problem with the entire Sherlock Holmes article of almost two years ago that I wrote."

"I think that you are an exceptional talent. You were unjustly persecuted by the Holmes family. I represent an interested party that has the power to help you."

"What would you expect from me in return," she asked somewhat suspiciously.

"My only motivation is to free a talent like yours, so that you can do what you do best, Miss Riley, report the news." Moran said as he leaned in slightly toward her. He flashed his most charming smile.

She returned the smile as she leaned toward Moran now. "Call me Kitty and I am listening."


	99. Chapter 99

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 99

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

"…Stalemate is when your opponent cannot legally move any of their pieces, but their king is not under attack. That's a draw (no one wins)"

…. Our New Game …

* * *

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers, no one goes his way alone; all that we send into the lives of others, comes back into our own." ~_Edwin Markham_

* * *

_**Six Weeks Later.**_

It had been quiet, much too quiet. It was unnerving in a way; Moriarty was never quiet.

Not a word, threat or trace of Moriarty since the roses were delivered five weeks ago. John was relieved that the pressure from Mycroft had kept Moriarty busy, but a part of him wondered what the psychopath was thinking about doing next. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and headed toward the wooden stairs.

John yawned as he walked down the stairs. He blinked away the tiredness from his eyes. Sherlock was back to work with Scotland Yard again. He was at ninety percent of his normal self, which was exhausting for anyone who was trying to keep up with him. For the sake of everyone's sanity, it was decided that it was best to keep the younger Holmes busy. The risk of a bored Sherlock was almost as dangerous as a risk of Moriarty.

John raised an eyebrow and sniffed as he came down the stairs. His heart raced a little.

He smiled as he identified the scents, both tea and coffee.

Could Sherlock's memories have returned, John wondered. Before Sherlock's memory loss, the one thing that Sherlock did faithfully for the past year, was to make sure that John always had coffee or tea in the morning, since he usually woke up first. It would be in his favorite cup with cream only, no sugar. He had no idea how Sherlock seemed to know when to pour it out. It was always hot and perfect in flavor.

He quickened his steps.

"Sherlock," he said smiling as he walked into the kitchen area. He saw Sherlock drinking a cup of tea. There was no cup for him.

John sighed, no memory returned then.

He tried not to show his disappointment. He felt that Sherlock was at a disadvantage with Moriarty until those missing memories returned.

"Sherlock," John said casually as he walked over to the pots. He tried to decide which beverage he would drink first.

Sherlock gave a nod as he stared at the wall, apparently deep in thought.

John came to two kettles of cold tea and coffee that were abandoned. He stared confused as he noticed the two additional kettles with hot tea and coffee. There were four kettles in total. Where did Sherlock get all the kettles from he wondered as he ran a hand through his short hair.

"Sherlock, why didn't you empty the kettles of cold tea and coffee when you made a new batch?" John asked with irritation. His lack of sleep made John less patient than usual.

"John isn't it enough that I actually made the tea **and** coffee. I didn't even wake you up this time to make it for me. Really John, You should be more considerate." Sherlock said as he signed off the computer and walked to the table where he already poured himself another cup of tea. He did not consider pouring one for John.

"You're a real treasure Sherlock. Your experiments, your odd noises in the middle of the night. Violin music at three AM…"

"I think that you cannot comment John, after the odd noises that I heard coming out of your bedroom involving a one Ms. Myers yesterday. That's why you're so tired John."

John's face flushed red. He cleared his throat.

"Why were you listening and when were you home during..., Um... You were suppose to be with Lestrade…, Um…, I mean."

"It happened before John. Yesterday, I took a walk when I deduce what was happening. I estimated that I only needed to be gone fifteen minutes longer." He took a sip. "Come-Come John. You should have known how thin the walls were."

John had his arms crossed.

Sherlock took a sip of tea then stop and asked.

"You're upset John?" He thought for a moment. "Oh, was this one of those situations where I was supposed to lie and say that I needed to be gone for a little longer, two hours maybe." Sherlock snorted.

John said nothing as he walked into the kitchen. He returned with two cups of beverages.

Sherlock looked at him curiously. He then looked down at his mug of tea.

John walked up to him and said simply. "Apologize."

Sherlock huffed as he picked back up his teacup that he cradled in his hands. "Why should I apologize for telling the truth…" He never was able to finish his thought as cold coffee was poured over his head. Sherlock was stunned into silence for a few minutes. He mentally replayed what just happened to draw a different conclusion. But, it kept coming back to one clear fact. The drop of coffee that dripped on his shirt solidified his conclusion.

Sherlock suddenly enraged slammed his teacup down a little more forcefully than intended. "John Watson, what the hel…"

Again, his thoughts were interrupted as tea this time was poured down on his head. Sherlock only sat there for a minute with his mouth partially opened blinking slowly. John smiled at first. Then he thought of the wisdom of getting his genius level flatmate with a degree in chemistry and a refrigerator full of dead body parts angry. John's smile died quickly. A military term came to mind.

Retreat.

John suddenly looked ashamed. Okay, the truth was that John pretended to not be amused. He almost laughed . Sherlock looked like a wet rat. He covered his snicker with a cough. John could not look him in the face and fake remorse properly. He turned his back to him. Giggling when you're trying to apologize was not a smart idea.

"Um… Sherlock, that was completely childish of me." He heard Sherlock's feet as he moved to the kitchen to get a tea towel to dry himself, he assumed. He coughed again as the image of Sherlock curls covering his eyes as the liquid weighed it down, came to mind. John lifted his hand to his mouth and tried again. He heard Sherlock return.

"Sherlock, it was inexcusable, and I will clean up the place alone." A part of John's mind reminded him that he always cleans up alone anyway. Maybe, he should have used three cups.

Back to the apology.

"I'm really ashamed right now. I think I need a moment in my room to think about what I've done." And, laugh some more, John thought to himself. His lips twitched.

"It's alright John, turn around. Let's shake hands like two adults and forgive each other." Sherlock's deep baritone voice sounded directly behind him. John sighed with relief as he turned around. His eyes widened as he saw the serious look on Sherlock's face and the pitcher full of lemonade in his hands that was directly above his head. He looked wide eyed at Sherlock.

"Now, Sherlock, don't do anything that you will regret…" John stopped talking as the liquid poured slowly down his head to his neck and soaked into his shirt. Because of the sheer volume of liquid, it even made it to his trousers.

Sherlock stood there surveying his damage. He took a finger and swiped John's wet cheek. He put the tip in his mouth and tasted. "Mrs. Hudson always makes the perfect lemonade, don't you agree." John said nothing. He just stares straight ahead. "**Now**, I forgive you. Don't forget to clean under the chair." Sherlock advised with a superior look on his face.

"Right," John said as he marched off toward the kitchen, arms swinging. Sherlock refused to look concerned, but he was.

John came back with something behind his back. Sherlock was as curious as he was concerned. They both just stood, staring at each other. Neither was backing down. After a minute, Sherlock spoke.

"John, this has gone far enough." John did not answer. He only stared.

"Come John, this is childish!" Sherlock said exasperated.

John finally spoke, "No Sherlock. This… This is childish." With a quick flick of his wrist, two ice cold bottles of water were flicked in his face. Sherlock gave out a high pitched yelp of shock.

"J… John, that was c… cold," Sherlock whined as he shook slightly. Both men glared daggers at each other. John noticed as Sherlock eyes traveled to the kitchen. Sherlock smiled dangerously. John frowned.

Simultaneously, they both ran to the kitchen and war broke out. Anything wet was flying from one body to the other. Both men forgot their disagreement as they started to laugh and giggle freely like schoolboys. Both men almost slipped on the wet floor as the battle left the kitchen and went just outside the kitchen. Sherlock was about to duck his head as he saw water coming his way, when a sound distracted him.

There was a loud splash sound at the side of Sherlock's head.

Sherlock and John stopped mid-giggle as they both heard someone clear his throat behind them.

Sherlock's back was to the door. John says that miracles occur, Sherlock thought. If he ignored the sound and concentrated, maybe, he would go away. "Mean, fat man, go away… mean fat man go away," he chanted quietly to himself with his eyes closed.

"I guess the two of you have not grown up yet, experimenting with new ways to bathe?"

No, still there, Sherlock thought. John excused himself and retreated to his room to change. Sherlock gave him a withering look of betrayal as he left. John shrugged his shoulders discreetly and walked faster.

"Mycroft," He said finally. Sherlock straightened his back and calmly walked to the chair where his jacket was. He put it on and buttoned it. He then walked to the kitchen returning almost instantly with two cups of tea prepared the way that his brother liked it.

He motioned with his hand to the chair. Mycroft after taking off his coat, sat quietly after making sure that the chair was dry. Sherlock sat opposite him and calmly drank tea as he crossed his legs.

Mycroft smirked and opened his mouth to say something. When he noticed Sherlock's raised eyebrows, he decided that perhaps it was best to get to the reason that he was present.

"Sherlock there is a missile defense code that was almost stolen. It…" Mycroft stopped mid-sentence as he watched in fascination as a droplet of water ran down his brother's neck disappearing into his chest then shirt. Sherlock stiffened but did not say a word.

Mycroft started again.

"Yes. As I was saying, if you could analyze our security…" Mycroft noticed a droplet of water that seemed to form on the edge of Sherlock's curl.

"Our security…" Mycroft frowned as his voice drifted off. He wondered how long the drop would hold on before it lost its battle.

"Our security..." he repeated. The drop became bigger.

How long would take to become large enough for gravity to finally win. Mycroft stared at the drop as if his will alone could make it drop.

It did.

"…needs to be examined." He finished with a frown. Sherlock, except for a reddened face, ignored the fact that his head and parts of the flat were wet.

"I've narrowed it down to three…"

Another drop formed on the opposite side of his hair. Sherlock simply looked up at the ceiling and took another sip of tea.

Mycroft, without saying another word got up. He disappeared down the hallway. Within minutes, he came back with a bath towel. He wordlessly gave it to Sherlock with a stern look. Sherlock thought about refusing it just to be stubborn, but in the end, sighed. He disappeared down the same hallway and reappeared within minutes with a towel-dried head. While walking, he was buttoning an opened dry shirt as his chest slowly disappeared. His jacket was back on.

The two sat down and discussed Mycroft's issues as if nothing happened. John quietly came back into the room and just as quietly cleaned up the flat before Mrs. Hudson arrived back. John then sat in the corner of the room and sipped the same tea. He listened as well. An hour later, Mycroft left. He turned and gave them both a look. He smirked.

Mycroft finally spoke.

"You missed a spot." Mycroft pointed with his umbrella under the chair. He swung it as he walked happily from the room.

"Sherlock, John," he called over his shoulder.

"Mycroft," John said before sighing. Sherlock said nothing. They both heard a door close.

"The man is infuriating." Sherlock pouted.

"John, how old are you? Do you know how expensive that shirt was?" Sherlock pouted more.

"You do realize that you were throwing water back at me." John raised an eyebrow as he looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned as he looked at the ground.

"I was forced to John. I had to defend my honor."

Sherlock looked accusingly at his freind. "Really John, you do realize that you made me look like an imbecile."

"Doesn't feel good, does it?" John stared back at Sherlock. There was a moment of silence.

"Point taken," Sherlock conceded begrudgingly. John handed Sherlock the towel.

"For heaven sakes, do you mean for me to dry the liquid?" Sherlock looked at the dark liquid as he wondered what it was. He stared at the towel and floor offensively then back to John.

"I've cleaned everywhere else. You're the great Sherlock Holmes. I'm sure you can figure out how to dry under the chair. Off with you." John made small circular motions with his hand. He then walked to the daily newspaper and picked it up to read.

Sherlock stiffened his back as if he was going into battle. He walked up to the chair, and then his face brightened. He had intended to do another experiment anyway. He suddenly walked toward his lab set.

"John, there is a more interesting way to do this." Sherlock's muffled voice traveled.

"John lowered his paper and looked wearily to the spot under the chair. When he realized what Sherlock was doing, he lowered his head. "Even when I win, I lose," he muttered to himself.

"John, I found it!" An excited muffled voice traveled.

"God, help me." John said as he looked upwards.

* * *

Moriarty read a message on his Smartphone. He smiled. Mycroft was clever, and so was his much more adorable brother. He put down the mobile on the near glass table. He then closed his eyes as his brilliant mind considered the new information that he was just given. The game was the only thing that Moriarty considered greater than himself.

Moriarty whispered to the empty room. "You'll be mine Ben, or I will watch… you… burnnnn." He opened his eyes, and turned to the right slightly as his head rested on the back of the tall, winged-back chair.

"This is not a stalemate Sherlock Holmes; this is a new game." He smiled as he stared into the fire. The orange flames danced reflectively in his eyes.

* * *

A/N: Let me know what you think. Most of the story is behind. We still have a ways to go, but I just thought that I would mention this to you. I decided to put some of the ideas for this story into other stories. But, again tell me your thoughts.

Lots of Love to all.


	100. Chapter 100

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 100

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you: Dark magical Sorcres (Thank you for your comments, I hope that you are well.), Bookworm Gal (More John, Sherlock, and Mycroft), Catie501 (Thanks for the multiple reviews, down with Anderson.), mvignal (Thank you for your review. I think that you are awesome.), hJohn302 (Thanks for the multiple reviews. I am glad that you enjoyed the tea and coffee), gemstone1234 (I thought of more stuff. Sorry, none of it evolved a bed sheet or singing.), Puky2012(Thanks for your multiple reviews. Moriarty ahead. Shiver.), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple reviews. I hope that the email worked correctly this time), eohippus (Thanks for the multiple reviews. Thanks for your kind words.), Ersatz Einstein. And to all guests and review, and PMs, thank you.

Thank you ; bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS, gemstone1234, eohippu, sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

More chapters in a few days. I wanted chapter100 to be by itself. I wanted to give you something in the meantime. I heard your requests Punky2012. Lots of Love. :)

***Warning.** Crime scene described.

**Over 500 reviews, it makes staying up to type, worth it. With all my heart, thank you. I appreciate you all!**

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

"The first step in preparing to play a new game of chess is making sure the board is set correctly…"

…. A New Board …

* * *

"_**History remembers the battle but forgets the blood."**_~ Vampire Hunter

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Rhythmic beams of light flashed as they broke up the darkness. The sirens had been turned off long ago. Disembodied shadows seemed to float back and forth in the night as their masters walked step-in-step with the apparitions.

Detective Inspector Lestrade walked along the cobblestone pathway toward the front door. He stepped from the darkness into the dim light of the front entranceway. Lestrade's experienced eyes looked around as he took in the details of the adjacent outside area. The lampposts that normally illuminated the lavish estate were broken. There were three in total, too much to be a coincidence.

Lestrade steeled himself and walked into the home. Donovan walked up to Lestrade as he entered the residence. They wordlessly exchanged looks as she led the way into the kitchen.

A few officers walked around. Lestrade walked up to the kitchen. The rhythmic tap-tap sound of two sets of shoes sounded unusually loud as it echoed off the walls. He turned the corner and walked through a magnificent domed passageway that opened up into a large kitchen area. Anderson was standing on the outskirts of the area. Donovan eyes glanced at his. They locked eyes for a moment before she looked away and refocused on the gruesome scene in front of them. She already knew what her DI was going to say before he said it.

"Call Holmes," was the clear request.

Sally Donovan frowned as she cleared her throat. "Doctor Watson has already been notified. They should be here in…" She glanced at her watch, "fifteen minutes." She refused to look at Lestrade. Still, she could feel his smile.

"I still think he's a pain in the arse Sir." Donovan said stubbornly as she folded her arms.

"Agreed," Lestrade, said as the smile left his face.

Anderson was making the request to have the body taken away.

"Leave everything until Holmes gets here," Lestrade said addressing Anderson without looking at him. He never noticed the look of malice that crossed Anderson's eyes when the name of Holmes was mentioned.

* * *

Her long brown hair bounced as she walked quickly while she pulled her suitcase behind her. She quickened her pace. She discreetly glanced back. He was still there. Maybe, she had miscalculated; someone was following her, and it was not Mycroft's people. Mycroft was as talented as she thought. They found her two days ago. Sherlock probably assisted them in some way. She lost Mycroft's man two countries earlier. She knew that Sherlock Holmes was trying to keep track of her movements, even with memory loss. She smirked.

Some things had not changed. It was comforting in a way.

Before the memory loss, he did it himself, now he used his brother to keep track of her. He always had the impression that she could not stay out of trouble. She glanced at a mirror looking back. Maybe, he was right. She would never admit it of course.

She was planning to allow Mycroft to find her, but she needed two more weeks to make arrangements and get the information that she needed.

She easily blended into the moderately sized crowd. She was dressed in all beige, from her knee length boots of the same color, to her fitted slim cut trousers and shirt. As she walked hastily out the doors of the airport, someone bumped into her. She nodded a distracted apology as she looked at the cabs that were lined outside.

She had changed destinations when she realized that she was being followed. She normally would have had someone meet her with a car, but she was at a backup location because of the threat that she perceived. She wanted to be as far away from him as possible to protect him. She also wanted information that would help Sherlock.

Adler looked impatiently at the scene outside. Her contact was on his way, but she could not wait. She needed to get to a different location and lose whoever was following her.

She raised her hands to motion for a cab to come close. The driver opened the boot for her and put her overnight bag in it. The door opened, and her hand gripped the door to steady herself. She bent gracefully as she slid into the back seat. As the door closed, she felt a scratch on her hand. Before she could say a word, the cab pulled into traffic. Something knotted in her stomach. Her right hand traveled into her coat pocket. Her eyes felt heavy, she blinked violently as she attempted to keep her eyes open. Her tongue came out to lick her suddenly dry lips. Three thoughts came to Irene's mind in no particular order as her eyes closed

"William… Sherlock… Damn."

* * *

Their bodies gently rocked back and forth, as they were driven through the streets. The lamppost shined its light at regular intervals as it reflected through the slightly tinted windows. John thoughtfully looked out the window of the moving cab. There were fewer buildings and more homes the longer they drove. They would be arriving at the crime scene shortly.

John glanced at Sherlock. He looked more like himself with his black Belstaff coat on and blue patterned scarf around his neck. He was leaning with his head back against the seat of the cab. His eyes were closed, but John had no doubt that he was awake. He was probably deep in thought or in his mind palace.

John frowned and looked away. Except for a few random pieces of memories, most of his memories from the last two years were still locked somewhere in that brilliant mind. John twisted the side of his face as his teeth gently bit the inside of his cheeks. Blonde colored eyebrows knit together as Watson thought deeply. His strong fingers lay tensed on his blue jean-clad legs.

They had been assisting in many cases for weeks. First, it was from the relative safety of the flat. Then, they made several trips to Scotland Yard and Lestrade's office. This would be the first time that they were at a crime scene since Sherlock's near death seven weeks ago. Now that Watson thought further, this was the first time on a crime scene for Sherlock since he was thought to be dead in the explosion where Moriarty kidnapped him.

He was concerned about his friend. Sherlock's pride would never have him admit to any weakness, but the fact was that he was vulnerable. With two years worth of missing memories, his behavior would be different. What is someone noticed and inadvertently said something that triggered two years worth of memories to all come crashing back at one time. What if Moriarty made another attempt to kidnap him. Worse, what if Moran acted alone. At least Moriarty seemed to enjoy him on some level. He seemed to gain more pleasure out of tormenting the man, as opposed to killing him. Moran had no such boundaries. Despite all of this, he knew that he could not hide his friend behind locked doors forever.

John glanced back as he noticed the black car that was trailing them. Mycroft's men were not being discrete today. They wanted their presence to be known as a deterrent. John leaned back and looked up at the ceiling of the cab.

"Your silence is deafening John." Sherlock said with his eyes still closed.

John was silent for a moment. He let out a long and dramatic sigh. He then looked at Sherlock and leaned his body close to his. He lowered his voice and spoke in a whispered tone.

"You have to be careful Sherlock. No one can know about your memory loss. You know how you get carried away when you're at a crime scene..."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the cabby who was glancing back frequently in the mirror. The cabby thought that he was glancing discreetly, but Sherlock's keen mind noticed several small details that most everyone else would have missed. John's voice floated to the back of his mind as he focused his full attention on the cab driver.

_Highly intelligent._

_Expensive haircut._

_Manicured nails._

_New clothes purchased today. Washed once to make them look worn._

_Firm Grip on the steering wheel._

_Prepared for danger. _

_Trained in defensive driving techniques._

_Ah._

_The cabby was picked because he was older and looked harmless, yet he could kill a defenseless man in ten seconds._

Sherlock hid his frown and looked at John. He used the same mirror to glance at the black Mercedes Benz that was following close behind. Sherlock decided that he should pay attention before John noticed that he was not listening.

"… You have to be careful Sherlock. And, no running around and disappearing without me. Even if you think that you're somehow protecting me!" John ended the whispered conversation with a hiss.

John abruptly stopped talking and looked at Sherlock. "Okay, how much of what I said did you really hear?"

"I hear everything you say John, now whether I choose to remember it is another conversation." Sherlock raised his eyebrows as he looked at John. John looked back without blinking as he folded his arms stubbornly and waited.

Both men tested the resolve of the other. Several seconds passed before Sherlock rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh.

"Basically you said; be careful, do not run off by myself and play well with the other children." Sherlock said in a loud voice with a false smile as he looked at the cab driver. "Would you agree?"

John's body stiffened as he now looked at the cab driver as well and slowly moved his hand toward the gun under his jacket. John felt his fingers touched the cool metal, but as it tightened on the weapon, he felt Sherlock's hands on his hand stopping him.

Sherlock looked intently at John. "Was it not you who said that we were to play nicely with the other children John."

John frowned but took his hands off his gun.

"Mycroft's man," Sherlock said casually.

John looked at the driver who wordlessly glanced in the rearview mirror. The rest of the ride was in silence. Within ten minutes, they were driving through wrought iron gates and up to the front of a house. Most of the workforce had left, but there were still a few people wondering about. The cab came to a stop. John and Sherlock looked at each other.

* * *

Moments later, Holmes stood still with his eyes closed in the victim's kitchen. John stood slightly behind him. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes. Everyone wore their blue jumpsuits but Sherlock. Donning a pair of gloves was his only concession. He walked on the edge of the room carefully avoiding the small amounts of blood present.

The organized noise was blocked from his mind as he took in every detail of the room. Within a second, he decided which details were worth keeping, and which details to delete. The kitchen was modernly decorated with steel appliances, clean edges, and monotone colors. Sherlock eyes traveled around the room before he walked closer to the body. He heard Anderson with his usual tirade about not needing the freak's help. It was comforting in a way. Some things did not change.

"… I have it under control. This is a random murder just like other random murders. I've already examined the body and scene…"

"The mouth is closed." Sherlock said more to himself than anyone else. Everyone in the area stopped talking. Sherlock stepped closer as he looked up.

Data, he thought, I need more data.

There was a body that was hanging upside down from a hook in the ceiling. There was a deep cut to both wrists. It looked as if that was where the blood had been drained from.

_The crime scene was staged._

_The body was cleaned, blood removed._

_The body and crime scene is a warning and a clue_.

_Thin framed male with dark brunette hair. _

_Corporate job._

_Widower_.

The dead body had an ashen hue to the skin. It was almost as if all the blood had been drained from his body, and yet, there was not much blood considering the crime.

He heard John walk up next to him. "It looks as if his body had been drained of blood."

"For a body to be drained so completely, the cuts would have had to be made, while he was still alive with a heart that was pumping. Is that correct John?"

"Yes. That's a lot of blood that someone has put somewhere." John said with a frown. John was quiet after that comment. He knew how Sherlock's mind worked. He gave him quiet unless necessary.

"Anderson, I need a scalpel." Sherlock informed him.

"Now, wait a bloody minute. Any further examination needs to be done at Barts. He's disturbing the body," Anderson sneered.

"His blood started to drain while he was alive. The body was upside down, and the eyes were closed, so why was the mouth not opened. A combination of the muscles relaxing as death approached and gravity, should have caused the mouth to open, even if just slightly." Sherlock opened the eyes and examined the pupils. "Your ineptitude is expected. I would say that I am surprised that you did not notice that the mouth should have been opened Anderson, but I see no logic in lying."

Anderson stuttered as he walked close to the Consultant Detective. "Now wait a minute, if you're implying that I am incompetent…"

"I have not implied, I've stated directly," Sherlock said in a matter-of–fact voice.

"So much for playing nice," John muttered to himself before he sighed and positioned his body between Anderson and Sherlock. Sherlock opened his magnifying glass.

"Alright!" Lestrade hissed. The DI thought for a moment. Every eye was on him except Sherlock who was engaged in thought, and still examining the body.

"Get Holmes what he wants." Lestrade finally said.

"Now wait a minute…" Anderson growled angrily.

"Get. Holmes. What. He. Wants." Lestrade said carefully as he looked at Anderson. Anderson, in response, set his lips together tightly then marched away and returned quickly with the scalpel.

Anderson stayed closer to Sherlock longer than necessary. Except for a sniff when Anderson came close, and a brief glance, Holmes ignored him entirely.

When Sherlock attempted to open the mouth, his suspicions were confirmed. The mouth could not open. There were stitches to the inside of the lips that held the mouth closed.

Five minutes later, and the victim's mouth opened after Holmes carefully removed the last stitch. Sherlock stepped back as the contents that were trapped in the mouth evacuated. Sherlock put his gloved hand in the mouth and pulled out several pieces that were placed in an evidence bag.

Everyone stared at the rose petals on the ground that fell out of the victim's mouth. They were such a deep, rich shade of red, that from a distance, it looked like a pool of blood was on the floor. Anderson had quietly moved into a corner of the room, he looked intently at Sherlock. John noticed.

"There have to be more bodies. This was not random." Sherlock said deep in thought. "What was his name?"

Lestrade looked at his notebook, but Donovan spoke up before he could look for the information.

"Ronald Adair," She said.

Anderson gave Donovan a contemptuous look of betrayal, which she ignored.

"Sherlock, there are similarities in appearance to you." John walked beside Holmes and said quietly.

"Yes John, I know," Sherlock replied just as quietly. He tried to ignore Lestrade's worried stare. "Do you think someone is trying to get my attention?"

* * *

A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. Let me know.

**Fun Question:** A name in this chapter is taken from the original canon. Do you know what it is? Include your answer in your review if you like. The official answer will be given in the next chapter.

Lots of Love.


	101. Chapter 101

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 101

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you: sevenpercent ( Thank you love. I will see about the locked room. ),Bookworm Gal ( Poor Irene. Help her someone! ), mvignal ( Anderson has not yet learned when he should be quiet. ), Danishprince( Thank you for your encouragement :)), Prothoe( New hints and threats afoot. ), Catie501( Thanks love. I will try extremely hard to 'keep it up'.), Benfan ( The next chapter are here. ), gemstone1234( It was a little horror movie like, but that's Moriarty if it is him.), Kitiara88( Both the person and the book is correct. ), Voldemort101(Sherlock is back to field cases. ), Socalrose (Thank you for the multiple post. Mycroft did poke the bear. ), and Guest (More crime scenes on the way.)

Thank you ; bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

More chapters soon. Love and Coffee.

**The answer to last week fun question.** Ronald Adair was a character in the book , The Adventure of The Empty House, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It is the story of the resurrection of Sherlock Holmes after he faked his death at Reichenbach falls.

**Edited. Congratulations to;** sevenpercent, mvignal, gemstone1234, Kitiara88, Voldemort101, Socalrose (In order of answer.)

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. Sorry for the delay. All that I can say is, work. Here is more.

"An underlying principle in the chess strategy of the chess opening is to try to control the centre of the board.…"

… _The Opening Move_ …

* * *

"_**I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the **__**darkness**__** because it shows me the stars.**__**"**_ ~ Og Mandino

* * *

_Current Day_

_Current Time_

A violent shift sent the woman's body sliding then striking against the side of something firm, yet pliable. She woke with a shocked gasp. The sounds were so quiet that it was lost in the cabin of the motorcar. She was no longer in the cab. A part of her sharp mind instantly noticed this fact, while the other part just attempted to make sense of sensations, physical input, and garbled sounds. She blinked as her eyes rebelled and rolled upward into her eyelids. Her sharp mind tried to swim against the fog of confusion that had descended onto it. There was something that she had to do. What was it, what did she have to do? It was crucial.

Sounds slowly came into focus as the retreating rays of the sunlight flicked on her face.

She suddenly remembered what she had to do.

She put her hands into her pocket hoping she would still find it there. It was. Adler finished pushing in numbers on her mobile that was in her coat pocket. She normally could text blindfolded, which was a good thing since she could not look at her mobile phone now. She hoped that she was alert enough to not make a mistake. She fought to stay awake long enough to push the send key on her mobile. She did push it. However, that small act seemed to take the last energy reserve from her.

Against her will, her eyes started to close on their own accord. The sounds seemed to be fading further and further away as the darkness advanced and wrapped its arms around her once again.

* * *

_Current Day_

_Current Time_

Mycroft gave the list to The Chancellor. She looked it over intently and crossed her legs elegantly extending her arm to rest on the striped high-back wing chair.

"This is a list of facilities that might be at risk. I have it on excellent authority that authorization codes to some," Mycroft hesitated, not because he did not have the correct words, but instead to give her a chance to draw a conclusion before he spoke again. "… Shall we say, sensitive equipment, has been compromised."

"Why tell me this Mycroft? There are proper channels that this information should go through." She paused and looked at him curiously. "Unless those channels, proper or otherwise, are not desired." She took a sip of coffee to gather her thoughts. "What you're saying seems a little farfetched, if it was anyone but you, I would have laughed at them. How could any one man, operative, or criminal, have gained access to the weapons codes for so many countries? To what end. One man cannot consume the entire world."

The Chancellor adjusted her slightly larger frame in her chair. She waited patiently for Holmes to speak.

Mycroft put his tea down and looked intently at the Chancellor of Germany. She noticed his scrutiny but resisted the urge to frown. Instead, she straightened her back and used one hand to press down her immaculate red suit. Mycroft felt his mobile vibrate once but ignored it. He knew Anthea would get it. He was curious; however,to who it was. Only emergencies would be put through when he was speaking with such important parties.

He finally spoke. "Angela, you are a woman of vision and imagination. What you have done with your influences is well known. I am asking you to use your influences again. It is not a comforting thought that one man can have such… power, but I assure you, he does. I believe he has been patiently and slowly infesting the economical and political structures of several continents. His influence has even reached the European Council, of which I know that you have intimate knowledge since you are the President of the European Council."

"Much of his influence has been broken. I know the person who was responsible for bringing down this operative, as you call him, and much of the assembly of criminals under him. Trust me when I say that he paid dearly for it." Mycroft had to make an effort to keep his face impassive. He took a moment to insure that his breathing was even.

He took out another list and handed it over to The Chancellor who looked then made no attempts to hide her frown now.

"Yes Mycroft, this is the name of one hundred and twenty of our most troublesome criminals that we are attempting to capture. As you know, the problem is that we have remarkably little information on anything about them, they remain irritatingly elusive." Anger flashed across her eyes before she schooled her face once again.

Mycroft mobile silently vibrated once again. He noticed but kept his mind on what he was doing.

"There are not one hundred and twenty criminals. There is one man with one hundred and twenty aliases. The name he actually goes by might not be familiar to you. It is James Moriarty." Mycroft said nothing else but instead waited for her reaction.

"One man is responsible for so much chaos." The Chancellor sounded surprised.

"Think of him as a spider that pulls many strings." Mycroft said with a false smile. He had to end this. He had a meeting across the pond with the Secretary of State for the United States of America in less than thirty-five hours. He also wanted to make sure that Sherlock and John were all right. Someone was trying desperately to reach him.

"This man Moriarty is regaining power quickly, and the man who once stopped him is… indisposed at the moment. If quick actions are not taken, it might be too late. He has already secured the codes for weapons. That is a fact. One man cannot consume the entire world, you said, but let us not forget Hitler. Hitler was thought to be no more than slightly bothersome until he gained real power, at that point, it was too late. According to a trusted source, this man has only two goals in mind Chancellor."

"And that would be?" She already had an idea of the answer.

Mycroft smiled again. It was a strange smile. "To see the world bow to him."

His eyes now pierced into hers. "And, to see the world burn."

* * *

_Current Day_

_Current Time_

He stood and stumbled from the bed as he dry-wiped his face. The back of Robert's naked frame was turned away from his lover. She lay topless on the bed and stretched as she watched him with lustful eyes walk about. He reached for a fag and lit it as he slowly took a breath, held it in his lungs for a moment, then just as slowly, exhaled.

"A bad habit you've picked up love," She said as she frowned slightly. He also drank too much even though she had to admit that at least he was better at not drinking out in public.

Robert Anderson snorted before taking another drag and inhaling deeply again. "I had a stressful few days. Holmes has not even been here for close to two months. He walked back in as if he owns the world, tearing me apart and calling me an idiot. Me. Can you imagine? The pompous, posh, sodden bastard." His body was shaking with rage now. He took another drag of the fag and clinched his free hand into a fist.

Anderson smiled evilly. "He is not as untouchable as he tries to make everyone think." Anderson was lost in thoughts of revenge as an odd smile lit his face. He inhaled again as he pursed his lips and ribbons of smoke floated forward and ascended upward filling the room with a distinct odor.

His musing was interrupted as he felt a warm hand on his left shoulders then a warm body pressed against his back. "You've made comments like that before love. What do you have on him? If you tell me…" She turned his head as she contorted her upper half and pressed a long kiss into his body. "… What you have on the famous Sherlock Holmes…" She gave another slower and more passionate kiss, "I can help you. Everyone thinks that I have changed, that I am sorry for taking part in the trouble that freak, Holmes suffered, that I was manipulated."

She waited for him to think. She was determined to have her way, she usually did have it.

"You are a clever totty, aren't ya?" Anderson smiled as he turned into her arms. His mind was fighting him again. He felt guilty. Should he tell her about the tapes, let her watch the videos? They could both have a good laugh. Was this not crossing some invisible line somewhere? He had already crossed so many lines. They kissed again. He then pulled back slightly so that he could look into her eyes. A part of him wanted to tell her. She had helped him to slow down drinking; she only had his best interest at heart. He wavered then opened his mouth. His mobile phone ringing interrupted him. He bent down and reached for the mobile.

"I have to go, another murder." He walked off quickly toward the shower.

She looked up and she thought curiously, as she watched him walk, and then disappear around the corner.

Anderson fully dressed then rushed out the door after kissing his lover on the lips. She finished buttoning her shirt as she smiled at him and watched him walk out the door. Her smile disappeared as soon as the door closed. She picked up her mobile.

"I think Anderson is keeping something from me. Something about Holmes." Her smile widened.


	102. Chapter 102

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 102

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

More chapters soon. Love and Coffee.

"An underlying principle in the chess strategy of the chess opening is to try to control the centre of the board.…"

… _The Opening Move_ …

* * *

"**_When you have come to the edge of all light that you know_**

**_ And are about to drop off into the darkness of the unknown_**

**_ Faith is knowing One of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on_**

**_ Or _**

**_You will be taught to fly_"**

~ Patrick Overton

* * *

_Current Day_

_Current Time_

John looked warily at his mobile for the third time in half an hour as he pressed his lips firmly together. He tapped a rhythmic beat with his feet. Sherlock stopped and stared wordlessly. When John realized that Sherlock was staring he frowned then stopped his foot from tapping. Sherlock went back to his experiment. John sighed… loudly. He glanced at the mobile again as he picked up the newspaper and stared at the printed pagers that he obviously was not reading. The rustling sound of the newspaper floated across the room as John's fingers clutched then released the thin paper without thought. He exhaled noisily.

Sherlock glanced at John with an annoyed expression.

"Just go John," the Consultant Detective said as he returned his attention to the interesting slide from one of his experiments. It was of the stomach contents of a rat. He was testing the rate of decomposition. It was for a case involving a body that was eaten by rats after lying around in a warehouse for almost a week before discovery.

"I'll wait until late this evening when Mycroft and Lestrade will be here." John's foot started to tap again.

The rustling sound of a page being turned caught Sherlock's attention, even though he knew that John was not paying attention to the newspaper that he was pretending to read. John did not notice that his left foot started to tap again, but this time the tapping sound had somehow increased in volume.

Sherlock lifted his eyes from his microscope lens and stared straight ahead, as he ground his teeth together so tightly that his jaw muscles were bulging. He moved his eyes only now to John. Sherlock knew he had to get John out of the flat, or he might be forced to murder the man, and that was not an option since he was rather fond of him. Not that he would admit it out loud. With anyone else but John, he would have not even attempted to restrain the sarcastic remarks that were floating around in his head.

He thought about informing John that Mycroft was out of the country and would not be joining them that evening, but realized that little fact would be counterproductive to the goal. The goal, of course, was to get John out the house before he drove him to madness. Sherlock thought for a moment. He abruptly got up and marched determinedly over to John.

It took John a few minutes to notice Sherlock's black leather shoes that were just visible under the edge of the extended newspaper. John frowned as he lowered his paper. He saw Sherlock staring at him with his arms folded and a frown on his face.

Just as, John started to open his mouth to ask Sherlock why he was standing over him, he felt a tug that pulled him up from his chair. The newspaper slipped from his hands.

"Oi," John started as Sherlock pulled the stuttering man toward the door. "What are you doing Sherlock?"

Sherlock did not slow his steps but reached for John's jacket as he spoke, "You'll be there and back in no more than five hours. You'll feel better when you know that Harry made it home safely despite her drinking and yes she is definitely drinking. Mycroft's men will trail you. You cannot wait until Lestrade gets here, he will not be here for another seven hours. If you start to travel then you'll get there so late, you will probably have to spend the night meaning that you will be gone longer." Sherlock managed to make his speech without taking a breath.

Most people would have known to stop there, but this was Sherlock. "Hurry John, I believe she is at the pub, and she sounded like she was getting ready to sing, I'm too sexy for my shirt again." Sherlock looked grim, "We both know what happens when she does that."

"That only happened once, Sherlock!" John argued.

"Once was enough, don't you think." Sherlock smiled falsely.

John would have argued further with Sherlock, but he had to admit to himself that Sherlock was right.

John ended the moment of silence when he looked down.

"Sherlock, I don't feel comfortable leaving you." Sherlock's response to his comment was to _help_ John's arms into his coat.

"You do realize that I have lived alone before you came along. How much trouble can I possibly get into in just seven hours in our flat?" Sherlock smiled falsely as he wrapped a scarf around John's neck. Holmes did not notice that he said our flat instead of my flat, as he would have normally done.

John raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips staring.

Sherlock rolled his eyes annoyed now, "Go."

John exhaled a ragged breath, "I'll be back soon. Keep your phone close and answer when I call. I'm serious Sherlock."

"Yes, yes, and yes." Sherlock answered as his patience was tested.

John looked at Sherlock for a few minutes then nodded as he turned to leave.

"Oh," Sherlock said suddenly as his long legs quickly took him to the table and opened it with a rattle. He returned back to John in less than a minute.

He reached his hand out and gave the gun to John. John took it wordlessly, but Sherlock's hand let go slowly.

"Be careful John," the words came out automatically before Sherlock realized what he had said. Sherlock let go and then looked down briefly embarrassed before he looked back at John.

"Yes mother," John smiled as Sherlock huffed because his friend was teasing him.

John walked out the door, and soon after, the front door was heard as it closed. When he knew that John had left the building, Sherlock allowed himself a small smile.

* * *

_Current Day_

_Current Time_

Lestrade looked at the body. Another one. He was about to go over to Sherlock's flat with the files that Holmes had requested when the call came in. He would take the files over later, but it looked as if he would have to add another one.

The body was carefully poised on a bed. There was to be a wedding in seven days. Unfortunately, the groom would not be present. The DI squeezed the bridge of his nose. He picked up his mobile and made a call. "Donovan?" He waited as he heard what appeared to be her moving the mobile around in her hands.

"Lestrade, what happened?" Her rough voice answered.

"Did I wake you?" She usually was as bad as he was and stayed up late.

"No, no," She was silent and waited for him to continue.

"There's been another one. I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but I believe it to be connected." The Detective Inspector looked grimly at the body on the bed.

"I want Holmes at the scene, but I would prefer that he and Watson were picked up. I will bring them home. Bring Grifton with you."

"I'll get them Sir."

"Donovan," Lestrade said as he disconnected the mobile. He felt a headache coming on.

He looked at the mobile that was still in his hands.

* * *

Sherlock heard his mobile ring. "John," Sherlock said with irritation as he continued to look into the lens of his microscope. There was no answer, and the mobile rung several more times before it stopped ringing.

Within ten minutes, his mobile rang again. "John," Sherlock said with more irritation before remembering that John was at Harry's flat.

"Dull," he sighed.

After the third ring, Sherlock reached his long fingers and dug under the papers and books until he felt his mobile. He snatched his mobile and practically hissed "Holmes."

"There was another one." Lestrade said nothing else.

"Text me the address," Holmes rose.

"No, I have an officer who will get you."

"Not in a police car Lestrade. I'll take a cab." Holmes said firmly.

"A car or not at all." Lestrade said just as firmly. "Don't fight me on this one." Lestrade said quietly.

Sherlock knew that he was serious. "Fine," he said as he pouted like a petulant child.

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock's voice broke it.

"How soon," Sherlock asked more calmly as he quickly walked across the room and grabbed his dress jacket then his coat.

There was a background noise on the other line for a minute before Lestrade spoke again. "Donovan is on her way to you."

Sherlock paused in the middle of grabbing his scarf. He clutched the mobile more tightly and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I'm looking forward to it, he said." With a false cheer.

Lestrade snorted at the obvious lie. "I'm sure."

The call was disconnected as Holmes walked down the stairs. He paused as he now gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. He thought quickly. He sent a quick text to John.

_I am reviewing a case with Lestrade, do not worry if you cannot reach me_. *Send*

He kept his word. Moreover, if John mistakenly thought that he was reviewing case files with Lestrade at the flat that was not his fault.

Sherlock heard the sound of a car engine as it came to a stop outside. Holmes pulled up the collar of his soft black coat and walked confidently into the night.

* * *

A/N: Steven Moffat was interviewed, he said that there were three words that were clues to series three of Sherlock. The three words are scatter somewhere in the two chapters. Do you know what they are?

No pressure. Remember this supposed to be another _fun _question.

Let me know your thoughts.

Love to All,

Zacha


	103. Chapter 103

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 103

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you: mvignal (Chaining Sherlock to the radiator is a good idea), kassandwich (Correct, good job), bruderlein (I am not sure of the bow, but I hope it does not refer to the bowing out of Holmes after series three.), eohippus (Thank you for the multiple post. Harry singing I am too sexy for my shirt, would be entertaining to all but Sherlock.), Kitiara88 (I will keep going until it is finished, I promise.), sevenpercent (I hope it refers to bow and not bowing out. I would be sad.), Bookworm Gal (Something bad will happen. Why do you have that idea?), BlueSkies23 ( Thank for the comment. You are correct.), hJohn302 (Thank you for the multiple post. So many levels of not good indeed) , gemstone1234 (You are brilliant my dear :) ) Danishprince (You have a bad feeling as well? We will see what happens), Prothoe (Thank you for the multiple post. Anderson's next move? ), Catie501 (What is Anderson think?), Natalia (You were correct :D), Esstell, (I am glad that you caught up!), and Punky 2012( I know the feeling, I am going to do a cheat review soon as well. Skim through the ACD works.)

Thank you ; BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Note**: 1. Motorcar, motorcycles, motorbikes are the same thing. 2. **Sessiz** means **Quiet **in Turkish. 3. Tosser here means idiot.

Another chapter midweek.

The answer to last week's fun fact was **Rat**, **Wedding**, and **Bow**. :)

**Edited. Congratulations this week to;**, mvignal, kassandwich, Voldemort101, bruderlein, eohippus , sevenpercent, BlueSkies23, hJohn302, gemstone1234, Natalia , Puky2012, Socalrose, In order of answer.)

Kitiara88 (You got rat right yea!) Prothea (You got rat and bow correct :) )

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

*Special thanks to hjohn for looking through the story for mistakes, and Voldemort101 for pointing out any error so that it can be corrected. I put these up so fast that it really helps. Love to you both.

"**Good chess strategy suggests you make your first move with the pawn in front of either your King or Queen…"**

… _King or Queen part I_ …

* * *

"_**Evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table."**_

W.H. Auden

* * *

His agile body slid easily into the back seat of the car.

"Evening. They let you out alone?" Donovan's tight voice floated from the front seat. Grifton nodded before adding a similar verbal greeting.

He looked straight ahead, as he fought his natural inclinations to suppress the sarcastic remark that came to his mind.

"Sergeant Donovan, Constable," Sherlock said with an insincere and overtly false cheer, "A pleasure as always."

Sally's lips turned up into half a smile. "I am sure that you've been thinking all day about riding to a crime scene in the backseat of a police vehicle. The highlight of your day, I'm sure."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, as he again held back the ten, no, eleven remarks that were begging to be spoken. Holmes remembered that Lestrade would be slightly displeased with him already for neglecting to tell him that John was not with him. This motivated him to regretfully choose the milder of the replies.

Sherlock continued to smile falsely. "You're correct as always. You know what it's like to be in the back seat of a car Sergeant Donovan … Oh… I mean police car. There is a lot of room back here to lie down and do all sorts of official things." Sherlock took a moment to pause. "Thank you so much for coming…" He paused again to look at his mobile, "… to get me." He finished his statement with a teaspoon of sarcasm and just the right amount of implication.

Sally opened then closed her mouth again. He had not actually said anything wrong and yet it felt suspiciously like an insult. She knew him well enough to know that it might be best to not say anything further. She straightened her lips into a line and then returned a fake smile that matched his own fake smile.

She glanced and noticed that he had already turned to look out the window. She silently sulked while looking straight ahead and entering the expressway.

* * *

Anthea quietly walked up to Mycroft as he exited the office of The Chancellor. They walked in silence as they both glanced at each other. Mycroft held Anthea's eye contact for a second longer than he normally would. She wordlessly handed Holmes her mobile phone as she held the last door open for him. They stepped outside and descended the stairs as rapidly as they could without drawing attention to themselves. Mycroft wordlessly gave Anthea back her mobile, while quickly taking out his own. The Mercedes pulled almost immediately up to the curb, and a man in a suit stepped out of the front passenger seat, and opened the door for the British Government.

Once the doors closed securely around the occupants, Anthea automatically started to talk. "The original signal came in when you were in with The Chancellor." Anthea paused briefly as her fingers danced across the screen before adding. "Some sort of automated GPS coordinates program, downloaded to your mobile phone. It is a very advanced program. The only thing other than downloaded coordinates was one word."

"And, that would be?" Mycroft asked as he felt the shift in his body from the changes in the direction that the car was being driven.

"The word was Macarius, Sir." Anthea glanced at Mycroft as her fingers continued to move purposefully across her mobile.

Mycroft was quiet for a moment as his mind worked out the meaning of the word, how to proceed, and what to do next. After a few moments of silence, he spoke.

"When was the last time that our agents had a visual on Adler?"

Anthea was silent for a few seconds. "Close to five hours Sir. They seem to have lost her while she was traveling… Wait Sir." Anthea frowned slightly. "You authorized your brother to pick someone freelance to follow Miss Adler. They might still have a visual; give me a few seconds to confirm."

"Inform them that Miss Adler might be in need of assistance. "

"Yes Sir."

"How long is it before we leave for America?" Mycroft inquired while texting.

"A little more than six hours," Anthea replied as she looked at Mycroft now attentively.

"Let us make good use of that time." Mycroft stopped texting and now place a few important calls.

* * *

Holmes was quiet for the rest of the car ride as he went into his mind. Donovan glanced back as she occasionally looked in the rearview mirror at the Consultant Detective. He now had his eyes closed and seemed to be ignoring everything around him.

Sally picked up her vibrating mobile phone. She would normally ignore it while driving but this was Lestrade. She picked up the mobile and spoke quietly.

"Sir." She listened for a few minutes as she glanced back. "Yes Sir." She disconnected. Her mind was lost in thought until something caught her attention.

Sally thought that she sighted the same black car that she saw fifteen minutes ago, but when she looked back, the car was no longer there. She frowned and looked back one more time. She was getting a little jumpy. She was glad that Holmes eyes were closed; it was embarrassing enough without Holmes finding out and making one of his famous insensitive remarks.

Within ten minutes, Sally drove through the gaits to the property and pulled up to the house. There was complete silence except for the clicking sound of the front door of the vehicle opening and closing. Grifton walked a short distance away and entered a police car. He would take up watch for the night.

Sally was about to wake up Holmes but hesitated. She was not sure why. He was usually so guarded and basically unpleasant. She took this opportunity to observe him while he was not aware. She had to admit that he looked good for someone who almost died a little over six weeks ago. She continued to look observing his features. She frowned when she realized that when he put his guard down, he looked strangely innocent. If it were not for his scathing comments and sharp wit, he would even be considered attractive. She wondered to herself why he chose such a dangerous life. Everyone knew that he was a genius with the sciences. Why was he not working as a scientist somewhere?

She turned for a few seconds to look in the direction of Grifton's vehicle. She turned back to see Holmes eyes staring at her. They locked eyes for a minute. He had a intense look on his face. She quickly realized three things. The first was that she was caught. The second, was that his mobile was vibrating and that had woken him. The third was that it was a good idea to close her mouth. She refused to look embarrassed in front of him.

"Lestrade thinks Doctor Watson is with you." She said smoothly.

He nodded once then answered his mobile as he exited the vehicle. He gave a questioning glance when he noticed that she was not following.

"I'll return later to drive you back to your flat." Sally immediately pulled the vehicle back onto the driveway.

Sherlock nodded again and turned to walk the pathway that led to the house as he continued to listen to Lestrade.

"… _Don't murder him Holmes, I'll know it was you even though I have no doubt that I'll never find the body."_ Holmes smiled at Lestrade's words.

He spoke for the first time. "Don't worry Detective Inspector, Anderson and I will get along splendidly, and I'll be the very model of civility. Enjoy the press conference."

His long legs carried him quickly to the front door. He took a moment to observe the outside area. He looked at the door. Due to the leaking of the latest murder and the impromptu press conference, no one would be at the crime scene. The exceptions were Grifton who was to guard the outside, and Anderson who was on the inside. Sherlock already decided that he would ignore the man, as he walked confidently inside.

* * *

Her eyes flew open as she exhaled a startled gasp. A sudden shift sent Adler sliding to the right. Her body violently struck the side of the motorcar, and then slid to the other side, striking the car door.

Sights, sounds, and sensations, flooded her senses in an overwhelming way. For a brief moment, there was panic. What had happened, where was she? The disjointed images and faces in the car started to solidify and come into focus. Adler did not notice when a groan escaped her lips. She now noticed the almost deafening volume of sound. Her rubbery hands attempted to cover her ears but she was only able to move her arms a few centimeters then they dropped on the seat.

She attempted to blink away the mental fog that seemed determined to settle in her mind. After a few minutes, it finally lifted. She was in the same car and that car was in a hurry to go somewhere. There were shouts, voices arguing, along with the sound of the car's engine being pushed to the maximum. She also noticed the distinct pop- clink sound of metal hitting metal.

She frowned as she noticed the car swerving back and forth, as the driver temporarily lost control, and then regained control of the moving vehicle again. She blinked again as she tried to push herself more upright in a way that would not draw attention to herself. The men seemed fully occupied, but it was still a good idea to be careful.

She continued to open and close her eyes as she attempted to think of the best plan. Her thoughts were coming slowly but they were coming. After a few minutes of being still, she felt her strength slowly returning. She looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon. She heard a clunk sound, and noticed the cars that were behind her that were in pursuit.

Irene Adler's mind became clearer as she was driven through the streets. The flashing lights of police officers on motorcars broke the dim light as they now joined the chase. She almost smiled. Mycroft. Apparently, she did not lose all of his men. She was unusually happy to be wrong. She looked around for a weapon, or something to use as a weapon. For a brief moment, she was grim. Her kidnappers were cornered. She now wondered if their orders were to kill her if they could not capture her. She shook herself inwardly as she decided not to give up. She tried earnestly to get her limbs to move.


	104. Chapter 104

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 104

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Note**: 1. Motorcar, motorcycles, motorbikes are the same thing. 2. **Sessiz** means **Quiet **in Turkish. 3. Tosser here means idiot.

Another chapter midweek.

"**Good chess strategy suggests you make your first move with the pawn in front of either your King or Queen…"**

… _King or Queen part I_ …

* * *

"_**There is nothing evil save that which perverts the mind and shackles the conscience.**__**" ~**_Saint Ambrose

* * *

Lestrade sat in one of the three chairs that were lined up behind a long table. He exhaled noisily as he tried, for the third time, to reach Holmes. Sherlock, normally, would have called by now. The Consultant Detective would rattle off one of his brilliant deductions, immediately after he reminded Lestrade of how unimaginative the common masses were in general.

Lestrade normally would have found the entire conversation very annoying and slightly amusing. However, the only thing that he was currently, was worried. He grabbed his coat suddenly as he started to walk toward the car. He hesitated for a moment then called another number. Lestrade glanced around to make sure that no one was able to overhear his conversation.

The mobile line rang twice before it was answered. "Lestrade. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, but would you kindly tell Sherlock to answer his bloody phone." Lestrade kept looking around as he pushed the door open. He had a feeling as if someone was watching him.

"Why don't you tell him yourself…?" John stopped speaking.

There was silence on the other line. Lestrade stopped suddenly as well. "Let me guess John, you're not with him. And, Sherlock told you that I was with him."

Lestrade had to endure a few seconds of creative cursing before John spoke again. "Sherlock did not exactly lie, but he did imply that you were with him Lestrade, the tricky bastard."

"Calm down John, Sherlock is at a crime scene. Donovan is on her way to pick him up, and Anderson is with him. What's the worst that can happen? Anderson will say something stupid and Sherlock will call him an idiot a few times. He probably got caught up in the case. Another body was found, and to be fair, I was supposed to be there before the murders were leaked to the press. I'm sure we'll have a laugh about this later mate." Lestrade started his car and pulled onto the road.

"I'm about to catch a cab. I'll let you know when I reach him." John disconnected.

Lestrade made another call. "Donovan, how close are you?"

"Um, fifteen minutes Sir, I am almost there."

"Make it twelve," Lestrade said.

"Yes Sir," Donovan replied as she disconnected.

Lestrade did not notice one reporter that kept a close watch from her motorcar. Kitty Riley picked up her mobile and smiled widely as she made a second call.

* * *

An agent watched as the man jogged over to his vehicle. He frowned as he heard the repeated tapping on the glass window of the car. He slowly rolled down the glass.

"Yes Sir," the agent said cautiously.

"You're assigned to protect me. I already know who you are. I need to get back to 221B Baker Street, fast. Any problems with that?" John spoke with all the authority of his former military rank and title.

"One minute Sir." The agent made a quick call. Within less than a minute, John's mobile rang.

"John, I've been unable to reach Sherlock as well. However, the agent assigned to him is parked outside of the crime scene. All seems quiet. There is apparently another officer who is also sitting in his car outside of the crime scene."

Mycroft was heard talking to Anthea briefly. "The agent that is assigned to you will take you wherever you want to go, in fact John; I think it is a good idea to stay with him for now."

"Mycroft, what's going on? Is it another one of Moriarty's games?" John spoke as he slid into the back seat.

"There is a lot going on currently John. I believe that there are multiple targets. That is all that I can say for now. Do stay close to that stubborn brother of mine and do manage not to get yourself shot." Mycroft voice was even and sounded almost bored, but John detected the edge in his voice.

"I'll do my best." John checked his gun. "Prepare yourself Mycroft, you know what I'm about to say, be careful as well."

"I'll do my utmost." Mycroft said without hesitation.

"You're getting better," John said before both men disconnected.

* * *

Two young adults were smiling as they hurried home in the twilight. It was an open market area with very wide streets. Shops of various kinds lined the left and the right. There were small stands that sold everything from fresh produce, meat, to small souvenirs. The stands lined the middle of the street. A thin girl walked beside her lanky brother who was the same height despite being four years older. The young girl worked at one of the opened markets and every night her brother faithfully made sure that, she made it home safely after closing.

A rumbling sound was heard and seemed to be getting closer. They now heard loud popping sounds. She felt her brother's hand suddenly grip her arm. Their faces contorted into a cross between a frown and surprise. She noticed in the back of her mind that his muscular fingers tightened around her arm in an almost bruising way.

He pulled her to crouch behind a building. They both witnessed two cars and two motorcars chasing a black sedan. One of the cars that pursued bumped the black sedan; the black sedan immediately went into a spin and crashed into one of the buildings.

Several men in suits and uniforms, ran with guns in hand, as they fired on the men in the black sedan. The young adult and her brother heard the sounds of gunfire at the same time that random flashes of light were seen. They also heard the sound of flesh being hit by bullets followed by yelps of pain.

The young woman started to gasp but a hand came around her mouth.

"Sessiz," her brother whispered in her ear.

She nodded her understanding and did not say a word.

They both quietly walked backwards then ran away hand–in-hand.

* * *

Donovan pulled the motorcar up to the front of the house to find a shadowy outline in the corner, just outside the door. A hazy fog seemed to ascend from the silhouette. Sherlock Holmes stood in the shadows unmoving. Donovan squinted her eyes, in an attempt to focus on him despite the dim light. She realized that it had been cigarette smoke. She heard rumors that he had smoked at one time, but she had never personally witnessed Holmes doing so herself. Furthermore, she had been almost positive that he had not smoked for a long time.

She waited for a few minutes before anger burned inside of her. She had been waiting for him while he just ignored her and smoked. He had been acting particularly insufferable since he had returned in Sally Donovan's opinion. She thought that it was time that someone told the great Sherlock Holmes where to go.

She got angrier as she opened the door and marched over to him. Did he think that they were all a bunch of bleeding idiots? She had not called him a freak in a long time, but if he was acting like one again, maybe it was time to renew his title.

"What are you doing?" She started in a loud annoyed voice but ended in a near whisper.

"Smoking," Holmes said without even the slightest trace of mockery. He took another draw of the cigarette.

Sally's anger drained away instantly. Holmes did not answer in his usual sarcastic manner. Furthermore, Holmes did not notice her approach, and even more disturbing, he jumped as if he was startled. It was a slight movement and Holmes tried to hide it by pretending to shift his body. But, she had noticed. She had never before witnessed Holmes when he was not alert, and several steps ahead of everyone else. She was not quite sure how to react.

"Where did you get the cigarette?" She asked curiously, as she stepped a little closer. She wanted him to talk. She did not know why.

Sherlock took another drag of the cigarette and was quiet for a minute. Then he started to speak rapidly.

"The victim..., the groom smoked... He did not want the bride-to-be to know that he was still smoking... It was the fingertips that gave it away... The tips of two fingers were slightly stained and slightly calloused... He hand-rolled his own cigarettes for years before trying to quit... He tried the low tar but did not like them, thank heavens... There was the faintest scent near his bed, but not on it... He smoked outside only... The ashtray was hidden... I noticed an ashtray deposited hastily under his bed... His fiancée surprised him and he had to get rid of the evidence quickly."

Sherlock stopped to inhale deeply before adding. "A pack of cigarettes was taped underneath the table. I'm no expert on the subject but it does seem a bit extreme for someone who is supposed to be sharing a life."

"I thought you didn't smoke anymore," Sally stated. Holmes always spoke quickly with his deductions. This time, however, his speech seemed rapid and almost robotic. It lacked his usual enthusiasm.

"Apparently I do." He said with a humorless smile. "It was necessary." He added almost as an afterthought.

Donovan felt uneasy. "We'd better get you home."

It was probably not a good idea to stand around in a dark corner. Lestrade wanted him back at his flat. She turned to leave and walked to the car. She did not look back to see if he was following. She watched him from the car. Holmes shadowy silhouette seemed to take another long drag of the cigarette. After a slight hesitation, he dropped the cigarette on the ground, and crushed it with his feet.

He slowly walked over to the back seat of the sedan and got in. Sally started the car and was about to start driving when she glanced in the rearview mirror.

"Is that a bruise on your jaw," Sally asked suddenly louder. She noticed that he seemed a little disheveled as well.

"It's nothing, I fell." Holmes said in that same strange monotone voice.

"You, fell at a crime scene..., you?" Sally almost laughed at the absurd nature of the obvious lie.

Holmes said nothing.

She looked toward the house with suspicion.

"I'll like to get home, I'm tired." Holmes said as he looked out the window.

Sally looked toward the house again. "Holmes…"

"Sergeant Donovan!" Sherlock replied with irritation. He lowered his voice, "I believe Lestrade asked you to get me home."

Well, Sally thought, he seems to be back to himself. Sally turned on to the main road.

Sally smiled falsely. "Lestrade also said to answer your bloody mobile."

Sherlock frowned and pulled out his mobile. It was turned off. Anger burned in him but he pushed it away. He picked up his mobile to make phone calls to John and Mycroft, when white-hot pain flashed through his head. He could not stop the embarrassing gasp that escaped his lips. He bit his lips to prevent any other sounds from escaping. If Donovan heard, she did not comment. His long fingers involuntarily relaxed around the mobile. It dropped onto the seat beside his right hand. He closed his eyes as he tried to control the disjointed images that were floating around.

As Mycroft's agent followed at a distance behind a patrol car, Sherlock fought to control the pain, and his mind.

* * *

Kitty Riley heard the doorbell ring. She glanced in the mirror before opening the door slowly. It would not hurt to have him wait a little while before she answered it. She opened the door with a smiling face. He walked in with complete confidence.

"How did it go?" He asked right away.

"Perfectly, Anderson is so easily manipulated, it is almost embarrassing." She said with a seductive smile. "You know you're taking a chance. He probably wants to come over tonight and tell me in detail everything that he did. He even thinks that it's his idea."

"He's at the pub now. Probably trying to drown his conscious if he has one." Moran laughed evilly.

Riley joined in the laugh even though she felt guilty for doing so. She resisted the urge to shiver. She had never noticed such an evil look in her lover's eyes before. She pushed all hesitation aside. She was an ambitious woman. Her career was more important than anything else. She would do what she had to do. Besides, Bill Smith was an exciting man.

"Robert Anderson is a real tosser." She joined in mocking.

"If Anderson is coming over soon, we'd better hurry." Moran started to kiss her roughly.

The man that Kitty Riley believed to be Bill Smith looked intently into her eyes as he kissed her. She thought that she saw passion, but what actually flashed in his eyes was amusement. What Sebastian Moran was thinking in reality, as he stared at Riley, was how Moriarty was correct, ordinary people could be so stupid.

* * *

Anthea hung up the mobile and looked at Mycroft. The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. "We have Adler Sir." She hesitated slightly. "Sir, should I contact your brother, he would want to know."

Mycroft frowned. "No, I need him to focus. Any distraction can be dangerous. I will inform him later."

Anthea looked at her mobile as a slight vibration alerted her to a message. "Sir, the agent that was following Mr. Holmes failed to check in. Two other cars are on their way to meet him, but they have not arrived yet."

"Treat this as an event. I would rather have an annoyed brother as opposed to a kidnapped one." Mycroft commented.

Mycroft took out his mobile to make a phone call.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Lots of Love to all.

**Fun Question.**

1. What is the first name of Anderson in BBC's Sherlock ?

Is there a first name that you would prefer the character to have?

2. In canon, what is Moriarty's first name?

Have fun. :)


	105. Chapter 105

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 105

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you: eohippus (Thanks for the multiple chapters. I am glad that you liked the children in Turkey), Bookworm Gal (Correct to all. Mr. Richard Idiot Anderson is one possible name.), Prothoe (Thank you for the multiple post. Sherlock seems to inspire even his friends to curse.), Suzy (Thank you Suzy for your kind words : ) ), Voldemort101 (Correct on everything Voldemort. , Silvia Anderson would have been hilarious), Benfan (Here is more. Save the nails!), hJohn302 (hJohn302 more and more levels of more than a bit not good, indeed.), gemstone1234 (Correct on all counts. Let us form a, down with Riley Club!), mvignal (Thank you for your kind comment. I agree with your opinion about Anderson.;) ), Kitiara88 ( Right on all counts. The next instalment is here.), Catie501( No way you pray, but yes I say with her he lay.) To all Guest, thanks.

Thank you ; BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.§

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Note**:

The week's fun fact answers were:

1. There was no first name given for the character of Anderson in BBC's Sherlock . (Gatiss did mention a feminine name once, but it was believed to be a joke.

2. Professor James Moriarty was the ACD name of the arch villain.

**Edited. Congratulations this week to**, Bookworm Gal, Prothoe, Voldemort101, gemstone1234,

mvignal, Kitiara88, Socalrose, in order of answer.) I am doing an off rhythm dance in your honor. :)

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. Two chapters instead of one. Enjoy.

… _King or Queen part II_…

* * *

_**"****Good chess strategy suggests you make your first move with the pawn in front of either your King or Queen…"**_

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Sherlock frowned and pulled out his mobile. It was turned off. Anger burned in him but he pushed it away. He picked up his mobile to make phone calls to John and Mycroft, when white-hot pain flashed through his head. He could not stop the embarrassing gasp that escaped his lips. He bit his lips to prevent any other sounds from escaping. If Donovan heard, she did not comment. His long fingers involuntarily relaxed around the mobile. It dropped onto the seat beside his right hand. He closed his eyes as he tried to control the disjointed images that were floating around.

As Mycroft's agent followed at a distance behind the patrol car, Sherlock lost the fight to control the pain. His body surrendered. His mind remembered.

* * *

**"_We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell."_ **~ Oscar Wilde

* * *

**Sherlock's Memory **

**_Current Day_**

**_Over Two Hours Earlier_**

Hell.

He was in hell. That is what Holmes decided when he crossed the threshold into the home. Heat enveloped him immediately. It radiated in waves in the large elegant open space. He looked and saw Anderson's coat, jacket, and gloves resting over a chair in the victim's dining room to the left.

Usually the crime scenes were cold, sometimes freezing. It was unlike Lestrade not to mention a problem.

His irritation increased when he realized that it was probably wise to remove his wool coat, and dress jacket. The soft black Belstaff wool coat was like an appendage, a part of him. He felt almost naked without it. Holmes sighed and folded the coat in an almost reverent fashion.

It was still criminally warm but more tolerable in only his dress shirt and trousers. He smoothly removed his mobile and slid it into his trouser pocket. He pulled out a pair of gloves and pulled them on, after depositing an extra pair in his pocket. He looked more carefully at the elegant space now that his gloves were on. His eyes took in the details as his mind slipped into that familiar place of deduction and logic.

He effortlessly and slowly ascended the stairs. Sherlock was careful where he stepped as his mind scanned the carpet, walls, and elegant handrail for any signs of struggle.

Data streamed into his mind, and was categorized as the useless data was almost immediately deleted. The house was large with two levels. He glanced in but ignored the library, office, and guess bedrooms as he made his way to the last bedroom.

He walked though the opened door to the room with the body. It struck Holmes instantly as odd. Not the body, he had seen many bodies displayed in many different ways before. It was the other man in the room. Anderson was not wearing the familiar blue cloth body suit. He was also only in his dress shirt and trousers. He was casually leaning against a wall by the window that overlooked the grounds. Anderson was many things, but he had never before known him not to follow protocol. Despite the two years of memory loss, he instinctively knew that there was something different, and darker about this man compare to the Anderson he knew two years ago.

He clinched his jaws together and thought of Lestrade before saying between gritted teeth. "Anderson, did you notice anything unusual, for example, that odd sort of smell that's starting to emanate from the body? As you know… Well, maybe not…, heat affects the rate of decomposition. It's rather hot in here don't you think?"

"Quite." Anderson said as he continued to examine his nails. "Boiler is broken." He had a strange sort of satisfied expression.

Holmes stiffened. He was being deceitful and apparently did not care if Holmes knew it. If Anderson were trying to annoy him, he would not allow it. He needed to examine the body quickly. Plan A, Holmes thought, ignore the idiot. His mind quickly calculated the temperature by the time the body was discovered. He came up with an altered plan of attack.

Everything melted into irrelevant background as his attention focused again on the crime scene. Sherlock looked at the windows. Lower the temperature as quickly as possible, he thought. Holmes briskly walked up to one of two sets of windows. A good, hard push and the first window was opened and then the other window surrendered with an equally hard push. The victim apparently did not open the windows much. The sudden rush of fresh, cool air was as much a relief as it was necessary

He walked to the second set of windows as his distracted mind took over and considered the victim's body. He pushed at the windows. It resisted then suddenly gave way. Holmes was so distracted that he did not notice when Anderson came physically behind, and helped push open the window. Anderson's arms were on the left and right of Holmes, trapping Sherlock against the wall. Sherlock realized that he could feel the breath of the slightly shorter man on his neck as he exhaled. Holmes bloodhound like nose identified several odors, two hung strongly on the annoying man.

"Just trying to be helpful," Anderson said as he backed away.

Holmes turned around slowly and cautiously looked at Anderson, studying him silently. He had categorized one hundred and twenty-five expressions on the human face. Many he did not understand on an emotional level, but instead on an intellectual one. He was even able to mimic these emotions when necessary. The Consultant Detective used the information to manipulate suspects and obtain information from people. He, however, could not completely interpret the emotion that Anderson was displaying currently. He wished John was there. He would have never admitted it out loud, but John was more skilled in interpreting the intricacies of human emotions.

There was a change in Anderson, a shift of some kind. He had mischief of some sort planned.

Anderson was a coward; he would not attack unless he thought his target was weakened in some way. Sherlock was sure of one fact, he was the target.

Holmes had never been afraid of much in his life and certainly not an idiot like Anderson. Because of this, he had been told by more than one source that he was not a particularly cautious person when he should be. But, alarm bells were going off in his mind. Something was wrong, something that was just outside of his memory and grasp of understanding.

When Holmes looked into Anderson's eyes, he saw the eyes of a predator. Holmes realized that he could not show emotional or physical weakness in front of him.

Sherlock did have memory loss, perhaps he underestimated the level of hate the man had for him. He had sensed a change in Anderson from the man he remembered of two years ago, but never thought it noteworthy enough to consider seriously. He admitted to himself that this decision might have been an error.

He decided that perhaps it would be wise to get back to an examination of the body and finished as soon as possible, and then leave Anderson's presence. Whatever game that Anderson was playing at, Holmes decided that he would not play along.

Holmes turned to the Forensic Scientist and said evenly. "I'll need a scalpel and evidence bags." Anderson looked at him curiously. He appeared to be deciding something. He then walked over to his forensic equipment; he quickly returned with the needed items and turned them over to Sherlock without his normal huffing or arguments.

Holmes hid the fact that he was surprised by the lack of Anderson's usual rant. He made his face impassive as he put on a fresh pair of gloves, and walked to the body examining the room and carpet as he went along. He tuned out everything but the scene.

The body was displayed on the bed fully dressed in an expensive designer suit jacket and trousers. Holmes noticed that the victim's hands were presented with the palms face up. Both arms were spread ninety-degrees from the body as if the victim was nailed to a cross. The hands held something. The groom's mouth was closed.

Like all the other victims, the blood was drained and both wrist slit. It was a tall, slender male with dark curly hair. His skin was pale, but his pallor was a result of the blood lost not natural coloring. He was killed like the rest of the victims. He started to bleed to death while still alive. Barts would confirm, but Holmes was sure that despite remarkably little blood remaining at the crime scene, the body appeared to be thoroughly drained of blood.

To Sherlock, nothing existed now, but the examination, the clues, and the puzzle.

He did a comprehensive examination of the body, then eyes. Holmes bent over with his back to Anderson as he picked up the victims nails and examined them with his retractable, rectangular shaped magnifying glass. He then used a sterile spatula to clean under the victim's nail. He smelled it and frowned before putting the organic material into an evidence bag.

The differences with his victims were numbered. This body had no shoes or socks on the feet. The eyes were opened not closed like the other victims. In the victim's right and left hand were brass chess pieces, a king and a queen. Like the other victims, there were rose petals in his mouth, and the lips were sewn shut, but unlike the other victims, the color of these petals were yellow.

The most dramatic difference was the note. It lay on the chest of the victim's body; the words, _The Sign of Four, _were written on the paper in black lettering, with the Arabic symbol for the number Four centrally positioned under the words. The fact that the words were written on paper that was made to look as if it was from the Victorian era was not lost on the Consultant Detective. He needed to speak with Lestrade as soon as he was finished with the press conference.

As his mind put the last piece in place, the room came back into focus. He again noticed Anderson. He heard a strange sort of breathy sound coming from the man. He straightened his body and turned around. He noticed Anderson looking intently at him, more accurately, parts of him. Anderson was not even trying to hide it. Sherlock vaguely wondered if Anderson was trying to intimidate him, or provoke him in some way. The only thing that the man was accomplishing was making him angry.

Lestrade, he reminded himself, think of Lestrade.

He spoke as calmly as possible but through gritted teeth. "Well, I'll be off, I have everything I need. I'll call Lestrade directly."

Anderson watched in silence as the Consultant Detective disposed of the gloves. He then walked up to the Forensic Scientist, to turn in the evidence bags. He wished that there was someone else there to take the evidence. He briefly considered walking out with the bags and giving them to Lestrade directly, but quickly dismissed the idea.

Anderson leaned against the doorway. Holmes heard him speak as he prepared to walk away.

"How bad is that scar on your chest?"

Sherlock's body stilled, his steps slowed, then stopped; he turned to Anderson, studying him. He did not think that it was wise to have his back turned to the man.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked almost warily.

Anderson moved closer.

"You know," Anderson paused as he looked Holmes up and down before looking pointedly at his chest area, "You used to be so skinny, you're still lean but muscular now. It looks good on you mate." Anderson looked at the right side of Holmes chest. "It would be ashamed for a scar to mar your skin."

Holmes was almost certain the hideous man, had never before today seen him with anything less than his suit jacket on. How did he know about something as personal as a scar, especially when that scar had been removed?

He was unable to stop his inquisitive nature so asked. "How do you know this? Do you expect me to be clairvoyant and read your mind?" Sherlock voice spoke evenly. He was a curious as he was weary. Only John would have been able to detect the edge to his voice.

Anderson came close and whispered, "Make a deduction."

Sherlock stiffened his body. His eyes became narrow, he resisted the desire to hit the man. "Personal space," Sherlock said with a false smile.

Doubt entered Anderson's mind for a moment, and he stepped back. He remembered the last time that he challenged Holmes physically, and the lump on his head that resulted. Almost instantly, that doubt left, and a drug induced courage and boldness remained.

"What about the scar on your abdomen," Anderson looked dramatically at where the scar should have been, and continued, "… very, very low on your abdomen. Ow. That musta hurt."

"What are you going on about," Sherlock said with the first real sign of irritation. Anderson noticed the break in the normally unflappable man's continence. Robert Anderson felt a shudder of excitement go through him. He pierced Holmes emotional armor.

"You know, you should be nicer… Sher…lock." Anderson almost sang his name.

"I'll try to be nicer if you try not to be an idiot." Holmes smiled falsely, he was not trying to hide his anger anymore.

"Does it bother you? What they did to you?" Anderson smirked. Holmes tried not to betray his confusion.

"Nothing bothers me. You say I'm a sociopath remember, nothing bothers a sociopath". He gave Anderson a scathing glare as he looked him up and down refusing to be intimidated. "Sorry to disappoint."

This time, Sherlock did not stop but started to walk toward the stairs. He felt like the air was being sucked from the room, and he had the beginnings of a headache.

Anderson stood with his mouth open and eyes blinking. He had a puzzled look on his face. The man walking away did not fit the image of the broken and begging Holmes of his fantasies. It was as if he could not believe that Holmes had not only kept fairly controlled, but he was actually walking away from him. He wanted to at least see a tear. His fantasies about an intimidated, trembling, submissive, weeping, and emotionally broken Holmes faded quickly. Anderson did not handle the possibility of failure well.

He ran after Sherlock in a rage.

"Don't you walk away from me, you sodden freak," Anderson hissed dangerously behind him.


	106. Chapter 106

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 106

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

… _King or Queen part II_…

* * *

**_"The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?"~_**Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

**Sherlock's Memory **

**_Current Day_**

**_Over Two Hours Earlier_** (Continued)

"Don't you walk away from me, you sodden freak," Anderson hissed dangerously behind him.

Sherlock did and would not say another word. He felt a stab of pain in his head; this time sharp. He winced before attempting to control his facial features.

"Don't. Walk. Away!" Anderson voice was louder than before.

Sherlock ignored him and reached the stairs.

"Stop or I'll make you stop," Anderson's voice was low now and threatening.

"That would be a mistake," Sherlock commented evenly. Another shot of pain race through his temples.

Anderson reached out to grab Holmes, but Sherlock was on his guard due to Anderson's erratic behavior. Sherlock easily pivoted and grabbed Anderson's arm and slammed him into the wall, trapping him there.

"I think I warned you earlier not to touch me." Holmes twisted his arm slightly more before adding, "Behave." Anderson let out a high pitch yelp of pain.

"Let go of me, you freak," Anderson hissed.

"Are you ready to act like you are a member of Scotland Yard? Or, do I need to inform Lestrade of your little temper tantrum," he sniffed, "… and suggest that he randomly drug test a certain individual. Just to be clear, that would be you."

Anderson suddenly stopped fighting and became perfectly calm. "Did you scream, or were you a stoic robotic freak?"

Pain that had the strength of ten migraines; exploded in Holmes head. Sherlock stumbled, his hands released Anderson, who fell on his butt with an unexpected thump. Sherlock's hands reflectively came onto his head as his eyes slammed closed to shut out the suddenly painful light.

Sherlock stumbled against the walls as one foot slipped one stair down. Anderson saw his opportunity. He pushed forcefully into Sherlock's thigh with one foot. Despite slipping, Holmes had managed to balance his body's weight on one foot, but with Anderson's violent attack, he slipped tumbling down the remaining stairs. Luckily, they were almost to the bottom, so he tumbled down only five stairs and landed on his stomach and the side of his face. Sherlock could not breathe for a second; the fall seemed to have knocked all the air out of him. He might have noticed that his body was in pain; except the stabbing pain in his head was distracting him.

One thought filled his mind, John.

Sherlock moaned as he tried to reach into his back pocket for his mobile phone. He vaguely noticed his hands being moved and a hand that was not his own reaching into his back pocket. He vaguely felt the cool touch of metal. Next, Anderson rolled Sherlock onto his back. Sherlock tried to bring his hands to his head, but could not.

Holmes blinked as he tried to focus. Anderson's blurred face was above him. The look of shock on Sherlock's face was mirrored by the look of shock on Anderson's face. It was as if both men could not believe that Anderson was capable of taking his personal dislike so far. Sherlock closed his eyes as the pain flared up again. Moans escaped his lips.

Sherlock was not sure how long he was distracted by the pain, but when it finally began to subside, he noticed several things. He was vulnerable. His hands were handcuffed. He had been dragged to a spare bedroom and deposited on the floor. Anderson had closed the door, and he was sweating and breathing deeply as he paced back and forth. Anderson must be nervous, Holmes concluded.

Holmes tried to think with difficulty. He considered the fact that, however, embarrassing it might have been, he would have yelled, but the possibility that either Grifton or Mycroft's man would hear, was almost zero. Sherlock knew that he was weakened and needed to use his energy wisely. The men in the cars outside were guarding against the threats from outside, not from the danger that was within. Anderson was pacing in an obvious attempt to gain the courage to do something.

For the first time, Sherlock wondered if the man was so far gone that he would try to hurt or murder him. He realized with clarity that he was at that moment capable of almost anything.

Whatever episode he had, left him physically weak. He would have to distract Anderson until his strength returned. The last thing he noticed was Anderson's eyes. Whatever he was going to do, he had thought about for a very, long time. He was battling with himself; maybe he could exploit that weakness. Sherlock blinked away the pain or he tried, of course, it did not work. His body was literally shaking from a combination of ebbing pain and adrenaline. He looked at Anderson who had stopped pacing. He had made up his mind about something.

Anderson was more of a fool than he thought if he had not realized that someone would check on him, Holmes thought. Lestrade or John would call, Mycroft would be annoying and check on him, even Donovan would be back to drive him home. He was almost sure that she was not a part of this.

A muddled thought occurred… manipulation. Anderson already had anger issues, adding manipulation would be a volatile combination. Sherlock was aware that the Yarder did not like the attention that Lestrade gave him, but there was something more sinister this time. There was another incentive, jealousy. He was jealous of Lestrade's treatment. In addition, even though it was obvious, that Anderson had three sexual partners, he was jealous of Donovan's civil treatment of him of late. This, despite the fact that, he had a lover who he had an emotional attachment to, and two more with whom he had sex occasionally. Some unknown person was twisting the jealousy into something dark.

He looked Anderson up and down and frowned. Maybe the increase in heart rate and the sweat was due to a different reason he now realized. Despite the pain, he felt his strength returning.

His mottled mind started to reason again. Seemingly random events lined up in perfect order.

_John's sister receiving news that started her on a drinking binge._

_The remote location of the current murder. _

_The house design that made it difficult for noise to travel. _

_The location of the body in the back of the house. _

_Lestrade and Dononvan being called away suddenly on a press conference._

_Increased threats that caused Mycroft to be out of the country._

_Half their protective detail of agents reassigned due to increased threats to Britain._

Sherlock held his breath for a second._  
_

_The note on the Victims chest was written on paper.  
_

_The paper was a reproduction of the Victorian era.  
_

_Victorian.  
_

_The victim had yellow roses in his mouth.  
_

_Yellow roses in the Victorian era was a sign of dying love and..._

_Jealousy.  
_

The pieces came together like a puzzle in his mind. The events formed a perfect pattern. It was the pattern of a master, not a moron. Someone had influenced Anderson, and the idiot did not realize it.

"The sign of four," Holmes whispered to himself, "A game."

Anderson looked at Holmes with an unidentified expression. Holmes made a point not to frown. "Anderson you don't know what your doing. Someone encouraged you to do this didn't they." Anderson did not answer but he notice the slight hesitation in his pacing and the tight line that his mouth was drawn into.

"It's not too late..." Sherlock voice was cut off by a gasp of pain. The throbbing in his body made him realize that Anderson had kicked him in the side. Anderson seemed fascinated with the sound that Holmes made and pulled back his feet to kick him again. Sherlock took his body and used the little energy he had to trap Anderson's foot against his body and twist. The off balance man fell against a nightstand and hit the left side of his face.

Anderson cursed Holmes as he rolled into a ball on the floor and put his hands to his face.

Holmes knew that the probability of reaching Anderson was low, but he had to try before he recovered.

"Come man, even you can't believe that you'll get away with this. Do you realize that you're a pawn in someone else's game?" Sherlock said in an annoyed voice, which, as usual lacked diplomacy.

A blow to his jaw was the only answer. His head was thrown to the side of the floor with the strength of it. This did nothing good for his headache. He blinked away the sparks, dots of light, and pain again. He noticed that Anderson was ranting and throwing insults at him. He did not feel the need to listen. The outcome would be the same.

He distracted himself by looking around the room and making deductions. Sherlock was pulled out of his thoughts as he hissed in pain. He felt two more blows to his abdomen. He took a moment to get himself under control, and then resumed looking around. Sherlock had lots of practice with distracting himself from pain. A part of him conceded that that was not normal. He squinted at the darkened floor under the bed and saw an ashtray. He smirked. So he was right about the victim smoking.

"… So you think I'm funny now or do you get off on pain … freak?" Anderson voice floated past his haze.

"You think you're so high and mighty that everyone is beneath you; that you're so high above us mortals that you're untouchable."

Anderson straddled Sherlock chest now and said. "The great Sherlock Holmes is trembling under me. I could do anything that I want to you, and you'd let me, and not say a word. He ran a slow finger down Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock became incensed. "If you belief that, you're delusional as well as an idiotic cretin, an ignoramus, a simpleton, an incompetent dimwit and sodden clot, a…" Thrash.

Anderson wrapped both hands on Holmes' throat and squeezed. Sherlock thrashed about weakly, in an attempt to throw him off. He gasp for air as the room started to swim in front of him; his ears were filled with a ringing sound. Sherlock's airless body had no more energy to fight, he stilled. The room was starting to fade. Anderson let go, and watched amused as Sherlock arched his back coughing and gulping violently, in an attempt to draw in more air. Every act of violence, made Anderson bolder.

"Don't be rude," Anderson, said in a low menacing voice. He was high off the power he imagined that he now had over Holmes.

"I have a few… shall we call them demands… think of them as suggestions for changes in your behavior… a few things that you're going to do for me since we're such good friends now."

Sherlock opened his mouth to first suck more air in as the coughs finally settled down, then to answer acidly. However, a voice that sounded like John's in the back of his mind, told him to shut up. Luckily, Sherlock listened to imaginary John and shut up.

He concentrated on breathing as he clenched his jaws together to resist the temptation to say something further. He felt slightly stronger and squirmed under Anderson. He was not strong enough to throw him off yet.

Anderson found his efforts amusing and simply watched for a few minutes. His face suddenly became serious as he glanced at the clock on the wall and realized that, in the real world, time moved forward. He smiled and bent his face toward Sherlock. Sherlock froze for a minute and then renewed his efforts to get Anderson off him.

"Get off of me...(Wheeze)... or I swear to everything sacred that I will murder you."

"Shush, it's okay, I just wanted to share a secret with you since we're such good friends now. Actually, the secret is yours not mine. Be still mate, I'll un-cuff you and let you go in a minute, I promise. My… Worthless… Little… Freak." Anderson's voice sounded soft and almost tender.

Anderson bent over further to brush his lips on Holmes left cheek dragging them to his left ear. Anderson started to whisper in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock suddenly stilled. He was as motionless as a rock. His eyes widened, before he closed them as if the act could block out the words. Sherlock shook, but this time it wasn't from the pain.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sherlock blinked as sounds took on meaning. Through the haze, a voice reached him. "… Answer me, I asked if you were alright."

Sherlock blinked a few times and answered as the memories faded.

"I'm fine," his voice was rough, and still raspy from the earlier abuse. His voice sounded strained in his ears, and his breathing sounded harsh and unnaturally loud.

Sherlock looked around as if he had momentarily forgotten where he was. Donovan said nothing for a moment then added, "If you're fine, why did you faint?"

"I did not faint," he replied indignantly. "I simply closed my eyes," He lied to both her and himself.

The interior of the car was immersed in darkness. The darkness was broken up by beams of light, which followed shifts of shadows. Both invaded the cabin of the car in steady, rhythmic streams. Sherlock let the steady rhythm calm him as he tried to bring his mind, and racing heart under control. He observed his surroundings and reminded himself where he was.

After a moment, he looked at Sally. "Donovan, it was not just me that concerned you."

She hesitated for a brief moment then swallowed her pride and confessed. "I thought that I noticed a car following us."

"I have a car that follows me for protection," Holmes heard Donovan exhale in relief.

Sherlock looked back. He frowned when he noticed the car. He studied the driving patterns for a moment. That was a black car, but not Mycroft's men. He searched into the darkened light. He could no longer see Mycroft's car. He waited for the car that was following to drive under a lamppost. It did. His frown deepened. He took a calming breath.

"The day gets better and better," he quietly hissed to himself.

Donovan tensed again, and tilted her head so that she could look at Holmes in the rearview mirror.

"Donovan," Holmes said in a measured voice.

"Yes." Her frown returned, and her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"Call for backup." It was a simple statement, but it sent a chill of fear through her.

"I thought you said…" Donovan started to say before being interrupted.

"You can say, I told you so later, and gloat when this is over… Call!"

Donovan got on the mobile.

"Maybe, a less lonely route would be a good idea," Sherlock again muttered as he moved his arms searching his pockets for his mobile, but not finding it.

"Yes." The fact that she did not argue would normally have raised his eyebrows.

Donovan was on her mobile calling for backup when Sherlock realized that his mobile must have fallen on the seat or the floor when he… closed his eyes. He looked and found it in the fold of the car seat. He quickly retrieved the mobile, turned on the device and call Mycroft; it was picked up almost immediately.

An angry voice hissed at the younger Holmes "Sherlock Macarius Holmes, do you have any idea…"

"Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted a little too quickly. His voice was hoarse. His normally stoic exterior was weakened by the night's earlier event.

"You're in trouble," Mycroft made a statement.

"Yes," he replied simply.

"Two cars are on their way. Sergeant Donovan can concentrate on driving. I'll also notify the Yard and Lestrade. By the way, John is quite cross." Sherlock seemed to calm while he listened to his brother's voice. He closed his eyes and pushed all emotions that threatened to overwhelm him down. They were unwanted. Logic was what was needed now. When he opened his eyes, Holmes cool exterior was back, and his mind, not emotions dominated.

Sherlock quickly relayed the message to Donovan and confirmed their current street address.

"John, is your men guarding John?" Sherlock asked as his mind fought the residual headache to access the mental map of London and the surrounding areas.

"John is fine; I spoke to him moments ago. Last I heard, he demanded that my agent drive him to your flat so that he could start looking for you. Did I mention that he was rather cross?" Mycroft's voice was muffled.

"You might have." A ghost of a smile made its way to Sherlock's lips.

"Iren… Ms. Adler might be a target as well." Sherlock commented as he reached for the gun that he now realized that he did not bring. The plan was for there to be a quick trip to meet Lestrade at a crime scene full of law enforcement officers, and then back home before John knew the better. What could have gone wrong? Well, he thought, plans change.

"I have considered that Miss Adler could be targeted, Sherlock. She is safe." Mycroft commented. Sherlock was quiet.

"I promise Sherlock." Mycroft said sincerely.

Sherlock nodded even though his brother could not see him. They were in a particularly secluded area, as they made their way to a busier street now. The mysterious car was not seen anymore. This did not comfort Sherlock.

"Thomas, is he still with her?" Sherlock thought of his mother. Everyone seemed to believe that she was dead, but it was worth a consideration.

"Yes Thomas is with her and she's fine before you ask." Mycroft was heard talking briefly with someone. Sherlock assumed that it was Anthea.

There was silence as each listened to the other breathe. Sherlock knew that Mycroft would not disconnect until he was sure that backup had arrived.

Sherlock frowned and spoke, "Mycroft there is something that you should probably be made aware of," Sherlock hesitated, "Earlier tonight…"

A bright beam of light caught his attention.

Sherlock heard, before he saw the large darkened shadow out of the corner of one eye. It was approaching at an incredible speed. He was not sure which sound or sight gained his attention first. The roar of an engine, Donovan's gasp, and the screech of tires all competed equally for the attention of his senses.

Next, the world seemed to slow to a crawl, his breath hitched as his arms reflectively came to cover his face.

The crunch of metal, the shattering of glass and the popping sound of deploying airbags were the next sounds, while gravity pulled their bodies violently to the left causing the seatbelts to dig into their chest shoulders and thighs, as the car spun like a child's toy.

In the midst of the symphony of sight, sensation, and sound, one word that has always meant protection, forgiveness, and strength, unknowingly and breathlessly left Sherlock's lips like a whispered prayer.

"Mycroft."

TBC

* * *

A/N: I will not leave you in suspense; my fingers are typing as fast as they can.

Fun Question. This one might be a little hard. The name of a canon book is hidden somewhere in these chapters. It was also made into a movie.

If you do not want a hint stop reading now.

Still there?

The hint is; there are four words in the title of the book.

Second hint. There is a peg leg.

No stress have fun ;)


	107. Chapter 107

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 107

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you: Bookworm Gal (What will John do?), bruderlein (Poor Sherlock :( ), , Natalia (Update is here) , Voldemort101 (Thank you for all you do :) ), mvignal (Thank you for the multiple post. Here is the third level of not good.), Kitiara88 (thanks for waiting, here it is.), Benfan, (What will happen to Donovan, answered.), Catie501 (I am glad that you fainted toward your bed , not floor. ;) ), gemstone1234 ( I hope that the angry face is now a happy face.), Socalrose (Thank you for the multiple post. Kitty and Anderson belong together, the evil monkeys. ), Prothoe (Thank you for the multiple post. Sherlock at Anderson's mercy, not good.), To all Guest, thanks.

Thank you ; BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Important.** Multiple chapters (5 of them) so enjoy all at once or space out and read one a day.

**Note**:

The week's fun fact answers were:

1. ACDs The Sign of Four is the answer. It was made into a few movies as well if anyone is interested.

**Congratulations this week to**, Bookworm Gal, bruderlein, Voldemort101, Natalia, mvignal, Kitiara88, gemstone1234, Socalrose, in order answered. Cookies and tea. :)

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

"**Good chess strategy suggests you make your first move with the pawn in front of either your King or Queen…"**

… _King or Queen Part IV_…

* * *

_**Alone in the Dark.**_

_**With only my thoughts and,**_

_**and blades?**_

_**The darkness is my friend.**_

_**My only other?**_

_**~ Unknown**_

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Muffled sounds were swimming just outside of his understanding.

Sherlock thought that he heard a voice that told him to wake up. John? Was that John? Was he not the one to complain that he did not get enough sleep?

"Mor... Sleep… Jon." Sherlock slurred. He let the welcome darkness pull him into its arms.

He felt his body shake.

"Hump," He slurred as he waved a hand away.

Sherlock gasped and blinked his eyes furiously as he moaned. He moved his hand toward the small explosion of heat, and pain on the left side of his face. Pieces of information started to make sense as sights, sounds, and sensations fell into their logical place. He blinked open his eyes to see if his earlier theory was correct.

"You slapped me," Holmes muttered just above a whisper as his rubbery hand slid down his cheek once. He blinked the haze away as he looked at Donovan, and whispered hoarsely. "Wanted to do that for a while, have we."

"I had to wake you up," Sally said with an innocent smile. Her smile suddenly left. "I think that we better get you out of there, can you walk?"

He flexed his legs before answering, "I think so."

Sherlock looked around and was startled when dead eyes stared into his. The upper half of a dead body was lying partially on him. "Step back," he said before he used both legs and pushed the body though the partially bent doorway. The body landed with a thud on the unforgiving concrete. He grunted as he squeezed his body through the twisted remains of the back seat, deployed airbags, and shattered fragments of glass.

He stepped onto the concrete and stood for a split second before he stumbled, collapsing onto his hands and knees.

Sally's hand was on his back instantly. They both grunted from the effort of pulling Holmes to his feet. He staggered a bit before getting his bearings and standing still.

"Holmes?"

Holmes blinked and nodded but could not talk at the moment. He waited for the dizziness to pass. Smoke lazily ascended from the crushed engine as a faint hissing sound broke the silence of the early morning.

"Backup should be here soon. We just have to wait." Donovan looked around when she was finished talking. They were in a seedy part of town. It was early morning with no one in sight. She looked at Holmes; he seemed steadier on his feet now than when he first awakened. Nevertheless, she had witnessed the man faint twice in a short span of time. That could not be good.

"You okay?" Donovan asked with concern.

"Fine, I'm fine, just give me a minute," Sherlock blinked as he looked at the two bodies on the ground. The one that had been partially laid in the backseat now joined the other one stretched out on the ground. Both had bullet holes in the clothing and blood underneath. Sherlock looked at his feet confused when he noticed that they were missing shoes. He searched his pocket for his mobile and did not find it.

"They wanted your shoes for some reason," Sally gave a confused expression. They shot both of them in the heels. They did not realize that I was conscious. I was able to shoot both while they were distracted. They were about to smash your mobile as well before I shot them. I could not save your mobile battery though. She nodded toward the ground and the partially crushed battery that was next to her broken mobile.

"The only reason that I had my gun was the increased level of threat. Those who were certified were told to carry them. If I did not have my gun…" She did not finish her sentence. She did not have to.

Sherlock did not answer, and he said nothing as he walked slightly unsteadily to one of the attackers. Sally heard him mumble something that sounded like, "Too small," before moving to the other attacker. He sighed and said aloud, "It will have to do." He then managed to get both pairs off, but almost fell over as he attempted to remove the shoes.

Sally's hands steadied him and helped him to sit on the edge of the tangled mess that was once a car. "What are you doing?" She asked annoyed. "Do you want to crack your head open? Where would all your genius be then?"

"In case we have to run," he said simply as he put on one slightly too big shoe, and tied the shoelaces extra tight. Donovan frowned as she said with some trepidation. "They will be here soon." Sherlock did not reply but instead put on the other shoe and repeated the process. He stood now and winced as he walked around. Sally watched his odd, well; more odd than usual behavior and wondered if he hit his head.

He now turned and examined Sally Donovan for the first time. She looked disheveled with small amounts of shattered safety glass in her hair and a streak of something brown on her face. He was sure that he looked similar in appearance. She had on the same navy trouser from earlier, but no jacket or coat. He unsteadily took off his coat and gave it to her.

"Too big and long." She said with a shiver. He thought for a moment then took off his dress jacket. She took it without comment and put it on, she then buttoned the front and rolled up the sleeves.

Holmes eyes were drawn to the front of her ivory colored shirt. Now, however, there was the addition of blood that seemed to be almost painted onto the front. Sherlock hand came toward her shirt when Sally's hand stopped him.

The subdued sound of an ambulance was heard off in the distance. "I told you that they were close." She said with some relief. Holmes ignored her as he continued to gaze intently at her.

"Not my blood," She said simply as she nodded toward the bodies on the ground.

Sherlock searched her face for any signs of deception when his thoughts were interrupted. The sound of a car engine that was pushed to the max shattered the relative quiet of the early morning. The sound of a second car engine joined the first.

"It could be help coming," Sally said breathlessly.

"Without the sirens on, both police cars?"

She did not notice the fact that Holmes came close to her and took her hand. He looked into her eyes, a second later; two shadowy outlines ran hand-in-hand down the alleyway with the taller outline slightly in front.

* * *

The car came to an abrupt stop. The sound of the gentle tap of the man's dark brown leather shoes was swallowed up by the sound of an engine.

A tall thin man with a beard stepped outside the car. Anyone who looked at him would say that he held himself with an air of authority. The middle-aged man had strands of gray scattered sporadically throughout both his hair and beard. He looked at the tangled mess of steel, metal, and shards of glass. His eyes shifted to the two bloodied bodies on the ground. He frowned and cursed. This was supposed to be a straightforward job.

He now glanced up to the lamppost. They had timed the car crash to occur in an area that did not have a working CCTV. Several more CCTVs would have been found to have their coverage interrupted. A second car came to an abrupt stop as he closed his car door.

"Sir," a man said speaking in Czech. "Mr. Holmes is not here."

"Find him," the man with the beard hissed irritably. He watched as several of his men ran in groups of two. They ran in four different directions. One pair ran down the darkened alley that Holmes and Donovan had just run down.

Kilián's thoughts became dark. Moran was not going to like it if they did not find Holmes. In addition, there was someone that was more frightening than Moran, Moran's employer. He had worked for him for five years and had not known his name. There were rumors now that shook the criminal world. A name was finally given to the darkness that had even harden criminals shuddering. Even now, he would only think, but not say the name. It was Moriarty.

His long legs walked quickly back to the car as he cursed getting in. Kilián slid into the passenger seat quickly and closed the door with more force than was necessary. "Drive, find him. He has just been in an accident. He could not have gotten far."

Two sets of cars drove in opposite directions as the sound of an ambulance was heard at a distance. He would have to work fast. The police could not be far behind. Kilián cursed again. If the police came, they would have to be careful. They could not afford to draw attention to themselves. However, they also could not afford to fail.

They did have two advantages. The first was the early hours, which assured that the traffic flow was low. The second and most noteworthy advantage was that they were in a part of town where most people would mind their own business. His eyes glanced toward the alleyways that they drove by. He witnessed a man and a woman running hand-in-hand as they disappeared from the street into another alley. "Wait!" He got on his mobile and spoke, "I see them!"

* * *

_**"It is true that speed kills. In distance running, it kills anyone who does not have it."**_  
~Brooks Johnson

They had been running for several minutes both Holmes lungs and legs were burning. One of the two men was gaining with the other man lagging further and further behind. Several bullets whizzed past their bodies before someone just entering the far end of the alley gave the command to _stop shooting_ and _take him alive_. In the back of Holmes mind, he noticed that the commands came in Czech.

The first man was gaining on them. Donovan's hand was ripped away from Holmes as she fell. This caused Holmes to stumble and fall himself. He was stunned for a few seconds before the severity of their situation was remembered. He scrambled up to his feet just before he received a blow to his jaw. The blow caused him to spin and hit the alley wall with his shoulder.

The first man was on Holmes again. Another blow came toward his face, the opposite side this time. His normally quick movements were dulled from his injuries. Yet, he was still able to pivot out of the way but not entirely.

Sherlock grunted with pain as he was knocked partially to the knee of his left foot. Holmes noticed the smallest glimmer by his right hand on the dirty ground of the alley. In the back of Sherlock's mind, the sounds of Donovan struggling with the second man registered. Holmes hand moved in front of his face for protection just before the first man hit it.

When the first man noticed that Holmes tried to protect his face, the first man brought first one hand to knock Holmes hand away, then a second hand to hit Holmes in the face. The criminal's goal was to knock the Consultant Detective unconscious.

If Holmes did have the energy, he would have smiled at the predictable move. It had been Sherlock's plan. The first man had his throat, and upper chest exposed for just a second. That was all Holmes needed as his left hand punched the first man in his solo plexus with all his energy. The first man fell to his knees gagging. A second later, his right hand came down on the criminal's head. The empty glass bottle shattered into a hundred dull sparkles as it reflected beams of stray light.

Holmes did not wait but punched him twice and watched as his eyes closed stunned.

The struggling behind him suddenly stopped. Holmes heard a groan of pain as he turned, running, to help Donovan. It was unnecessary. The second man lay unconscious on the ground next to Donovan. Sally lay panting on the ground. She had hit him with the blunt end of her gun.

Holmes raised an eyebrow as he helped her to her feet. They both grunted from the pain and effort. The first man was starting to try to rise unsteadily to his feet. The distant sound of footsteps were heard at the same time that a car engine was heard. Holmes had a plan. His mind calculated the risk even as they started to run again. Holmes, and Donovan exited the alley and ran toward the street.

Holmes saw a car speeding down the street and instead of slowing down to avoid being hit by the motorcar, he ran faster pulling Sally behind him. It happened so fast that she did not have time to object. The body of the pursuer collided with the top of the car then fell off as the car screeched to a stop.

The teenage driver stared in shock at the moaning body on the ground. Before the two could ask the driver for help, the frightened driver backed up and drove full speed around the body, and down the street. They did not have time to think. Holmes and Donovan disappeared into an alley with their pursuers not far behind. In the area, Lestrade, police, and agents searched for the two; while Kilián and his men did the same.


	108. Chapter 108

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 108

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Important.** Multiple chapters so enjoy all at once or space out and read one a day.

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

"**Good chess strategy suggests you make your first move with the pawn in front of either your King or Queen…"**

… _King or Queen Part IV_…

* * *

"_**At night the fog was thick and full of light, and sometimes voices."**_

~ Erin Bow

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

They ran weaving in and out of walkways, streets, and alleys for what felt like hours, but was only ten long minutes. From a distance, they had seen another police car and two cars that Sherlock suspected belonged to the would-be abductors.

Sherlock stood still, while attempting to catch his breath. His body was molded against the wall. The harsh sounds of inhaling and exhaling filled the space and sounded dangerously loud in his ears. Sherlock was starting to breathe heavily. He had pushed his body beyond its limit and was feeling the effects of it. He heard the same harsh breath echoed from Donovan. He did not bother glancing back when he heard the footsteps. There was no point. His already abused throat burned with each breath as he swallowed through swollen passageways.

Sherlock normally loved to run and was difficult to catch when he was in a full on run, but fatigue, the residual effects of the car accident, and having his body abused hours earlier was taking its toll. To add to this, Donovan was practically being pulled behind him. She was very near her limit, but stubbornly refused to complain. Truth be told, he was very near to his limit, as well. They saw a police car pass the other end of the alley. They both glanced wordlessly at each other and used their energy for running. When they came to the end of the alley, the police car had disappeared down several blocks and around the corner. Donovan gave a breathy whispered curse as she put her hands on her knees and tried to even out her breathing.

Sherlock took her hand again and ran before disappearing into an alley three blocks down. They molded themselves to the side alley wall for a brief rest. They both panted heavily. Sherlock knew that they could not outrun them much longer in their current condition. His mind mentally looked at the maps of the area that they were in. They were fifteen minutes away from the nearest tube on foot, but it was past two-thirty and the line would not be running. Even if it was running, Holmes had no doubt that they would go as far as shooting their way to them before they could get on. He shook his head in frustration. His swollen throat now felt on fire. He was starting to wheeze slightly.

He looked at Donovan, "Ready?" He asked with a raspy voice.

She nodded wearily and they were off.

* * *

**_"Ignorance of the world leaves one at the mercy of its malice."_**

~William Hazlitt**  
**

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

She opened her eyes and blinked. She looked around as she tried to remember where she was. Her eyes opened wide as she examined the hotel room. She watched as a woman, and four men glanced at her. Everyone turned their attention back to what they were doing except for the woman.

She walked to Irene Adler. Irene pushed herself up to her elbows and stared. She relaxed when she realized that the people in the room meant her no harm and were British agents.

A shorter woman, with her long auburn hair in a neat ponytail, walked up to her. She had on a trouser with a matching suit jacket. Irene sharp, yet slightly sluggish mind worked out what had happened.

Myers looked Adler over wordlessly for a few minutes then spoke. "You were given a mild form of a muscle relaxer and modified neurotoxin. You've been given the appropriate medical care. Except for a nasty headache, rash on your hand, and slight weakness for a few hours, there should be no lasting effects."

"You're from Mycroft Holmes," Irene said as she tried to push herself off the bed.

"Miss. Adler, I don't think you understand. You need to rest twenty-four hours, twelve at the very least." Myers moved closer as she spoke.

Adler managed to get to her legs. She closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness moved over her. She opened her eyes to stare into the face of an irritated looking agent.

Irene looked the agent up and down before looking intently into her eyes. She turned her head to the side and frowned. "What's your name?"

"Myers," The Agent said cautiously.

"Your first name," Irene asked again.

"Mary, Mary Myers." The curiosity joined caution in Myer's mind.

"You're John's Mary." Adler looked in the other woman's eyes. Myers said nothing, but her eyes softened at the mention of John's name. Irene noticed. If John trusted her, it was enough.

Adler turned and focused on the wall deep in thought. She swallowed her pride and admitted to herself that she needed help. She was used to Sherlock being there when she needed him, and John on occasion, but this was bigger than any one person could handle. She would need Mycroft's help, and so would Sherlock.

She made a difficult decision.

Adler invaded Myer's personal space and whispered so that only Myer's could hear her. "I need to retrieve something and get it to Mr. Holmes the younger. I need protective custody for someone; I'll discuss the issue of protection with no one but Mr. Holmes, the senior. I have nothing left, but," She looked at her watch, " a seventy-four hours timeframe to do all this in."

Adler swayed slightly. She looked up to see Myers eyes intently on her as the agent's arm held her in place.

"I'm obligated to remind you again that you need to be as still as possible, and rest for twenty-four hours, twelve hours minimum."

Adler raised an eyebrow. Her eyes became dangerous, her voice like steel. "I'm leaving now, right now. You have two options Agent Myers, help me or get the bloody hell out of my way. The choice is yours."

Myers studied the woman for a few seconds before her lips turned up into a ghost of a smile. She pushed her earpiece and spoke into it for a few seconds.

"Miss Adler, will we be in need of an airplane?" Myers asked casually.

"Now that you've mentioned it, yes." Adler smiled.

* * *

Holmes leaned, head back against yet another alleyway wall. This one was extremely narrow and had an entrance in front and back, as well as a break in the middle that led to a pathway. His eyes shifted between the three openings. He heaved his breath in and out. He noticed Sally near beside as she leaned against the wall, as well. As she inhaled and exhaled, the harsh sounds of her breath was heard. He frowned as he noticed the changes in her breathing patterns.

Sally motioned as if she would get up from the wall. Sherlock gently pushed her back against it. This time, he moved his jacket to the left and squinted in the dim light. Even though, his eyes adjusted to the dim light long ago, it was still difficult to see in the dark shadowy position that they had chosen to hide in. He used his sense of touch and smell to confirm his suspicions. His long fingers reached for her side and touched the smooth fabric of her shirt. He rubbed his fingers together wordlessly. The coppery smell of fresh blood filled his nostrils. He tore the edge of his shirt wordlessly and lifted the bottom edge of her shirt. Next, he pressed the waddle up fabric against the wound on her lower left side. He pressed holding it there for a time, despite her muffled gasp.

"We don't have time," She said uselessly.

"Hold this," he said as he tore another longer strip of cloth and tied the already blood tinged cloth in place.

He finished quickly and stood considering her for a moment. She seemed to sense his intentions. "R… Remember, I have a gun. Don't you dare pick me up and carry me, I'm not helpless."

His lips turned up into a ghost of a smile.

"No promises," Holmes said as all seriousness came back. "Not much further. Can you make it?"

"Can you?" Donovan asked. Her voice held a challenge. Holmes eyebrows rose unseen in the darkness. He took her hand, and they were off again.


	109. Chapter 109

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 109

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Important.** Multiple chapters so enjoy all at once or space out and read one a day.

"**Good chess strategy suggests you make your first move with the pawn in front of either your King or Queen…"**

… _King or Queen Part IV_…

* * *

_**"Remember me in the family tree My name, my days, my strife; Then I'll ride upon the wings of time And live an endless life."**_

~Linda Goetsch

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Mrs. Miranda Holmes or Professor Colville as she was known, walked to the small movable table. She applied slight pressure with her thumb pressed until she heard the distinctive click. The overhead projector light immediately vanished. The once dimly lit room was instantly illuminated as Thomas switched on the overhead lights.

She smiled as she looked at him. He walked down the stairs of the large lecture hall briskly. Thomas was barely recognizable in his khaki trousers and short sleeve polo shirt. The sides and back of his hair were still short, but he had allowed his front to grow out. He kept it swept back.

"Professor Colville," Agent Thomas said as he gathered the exam papers and patiently waited for her to finish her last minute preparation for the next morning's lecture.

"I'll be with you straight way Thomas." Mrs. Holmes said distractedly.

Thomas looked around and said in a low voice. "It is alright since we're alone, but it is best to practice using my first name."

Miranda stopped and looked at Thomas with a smile. "Of course dear; I'm so used to calling you Thomas that it's second nature to say it." Her smile left for a moment as she stared at a wall deep in thought. She thought about her sons, but her thoughts lingered on her youngest. She was not sure why.

Thomas frowned and stared at her questioningly.

She noticed his expression and smile again, "Just thinking of Sherlock. I'm sure he's fine." Thomas said nothing. He continued to stare at Miranda. She shook her head and commented. "I'm just being silly really."

Miranda took Thomas arm, linked it with her own arm, and whispered. "Well, if you're pretending to be my graduate assistant. You can mark those exams. I want them done by tomorrow."

Thomas let out a groan, but he returned the smile. "I think I miss being shot at."

Miranda chuckled. They both walked out of the lecture hall after turning off the lights.

* * *

Sherlock felt Sally stumble behind as he came to an underground passage. He twisted his body and caught her before she stumbled to the ground. "You're getting weaker. We need to hide."

"G… Give me a minute."

"Oi." Sally words were cut short when she felt herself being lifted. The world tilted instantly. The sergeant squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. She looked at Holmes face above her. His face was a little strained from the effort. She knew the familiar look on his face, the one he had when he was concentrating. The world seemed to tilt again.

"Close your eyes, it will help." Holmes voice said simply, as a fact. "Stay awake," He added soon after. She did not bother to ask how he knew; this was Holmes. She leaned on his chest as she listened to his quickened heartbeat. She fought against the pull of darkness.

Within minutes, they were both swallowed up in the dim light as he stepped into the tunnel's entrance.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Flashing lights reflected off the alleyway wall in a steady pulse of colored illumination. Greg Lestrade watched as the suspect was loaded into the ambulance. He made the long walk towards the end of the alleyway. He frowned when he considered the information that there was blood at the scene. The only good facts were that it was a small amount, and the two seemed to be fit enough to fight back. The not so good thing was that it did not appear to be entirely the criminal's blood. From the broken glass and a few other signs, it was clear that some kind of struggle took place.

John called twice now, he would be there soon. It was safer to allow him to assist in the search than to have him run off on his own. It was quite possible that they were after John as well.

Several Yarders walked up and down performing their duties. Lestrade reached the end and looked at the body on the ground. Paramedics were not needed on that one. The dead body was awaiting forensics to come.

Anderson was on call, but said he had fallen ill suddenly and would not be able to make the trip. Stevenson was the forensics backup and was on his way. Lestrade wondered if Anderson considered ill and drunk to be the same thing. Greg had already put one written reprimand in the forensic scientist record. He seemed to straighten up and do better after that. The DI consider the fact that he would hate to have to put another reprimand in his personnel file. He had known him for a long time. Lestrade decided to give Anderson the benefit of the doubt.

He watched as Stevenson drove up and exited the police car. Lestrade's eyes wandered down the street. Where was Sherlock and Donovan. They could not be far.

A block down the street, curious eyes watched the Detective Inspector's movements. A man picked up his mobile to call. "Kilián, they have Popović, and Dvořák is dead."

"_Any sign of Holmes and the woman?" Kilián asked._

"No Sir, but we should have them soon. We know the general direction that they ran in. There is nothing down that way but abandoned buildings. They seem to be running toward a dead end.

"_Keep me informed." Kilián ordered curtly._

"Yes Sir," The man disconnected the line as he discreetly moved away from the police.

* * *

A short walk into the tunnel, and there were a group of homeless that lined the walls of the tunnel. Several looked up when they saw him approaching. Sally reached shakily for her gun as she heard footsteps running behind her. Holmes hand came to stop her.

"Mr. Sherlock," an adolescent female voice was heard first, soon after, several male voices young and old, joined in a concerned greeting.

Sally felt her body being lowered to the ground. She looked and saw that two of the men caught Holmes as he started to fall and lowered him to the ground, as well. He was breathing heavily; sweat plastered his curls to his skin, and he looked more pale than usual. It had taken a few seconds of just breathing before he could speak.

"We need help." Sherlock took a breath, closed, and then opened his eyes. "Can you reach Jazz, Milty, or Buzz, anyone who has a mobile and call Doctor Watson, tell him where I am. Tell him, we are being followed, and require urgent medical attention."

A young woman and teenage boy spoke up, "We won't let ya down Mr. Sherlock." They turned to go when Sherlock voice stopped them. "Be careful," Holmes gave them both a stern look and they smiled ear-to-ear.

The boy said proudly, "Don't worry yourself none, we're smarter than a bunch of bloody wankers."

"Watch your language. You know what Mr. Sherlock told yah about yah mouth." The slightly older female scolded.

The boy said in a defiant tone, "She won't stop crying on about my bad language, but she swears more than me."

"Enough you two, off with you both." Sherlock said firmly. "Take that way." He pointed at one of the four passages that would lead them opposite of where they came from. Their smiles widened, and they ran away toward the progressively darkening tunnel.

Donovan asked quietly, "Brother and sister?"

"Yes, just not by blood." He replied as he watched them disappear down the tunnel.

A dirty hand of an elderly woman came and touched Sally's shoulder. She made an effort not to recoil in disgust. The woman motioned with her hand as the men helped both her and Holmes up. Holmes half walked half staggered the short distance to Donovan. He put his arms under her shoulder and helped her to walk along. She bit her lips to hold back the groan that wanted to break free. The elderly woman motioned again, and Sally followed, but not before looking into her eyes.

Sally had seen the eyes of the old woman. They were piercing eyes, old eyes as if they had seen a life of trouble, and had been there when the world was formed.

A turn around the tunnel and a line of makeshift beds were there. Sally also saw what she assumed to be the only possessions of the people that were helping them. A few odd motions with her hands and the men moved away some of the belonging to reveal what looked like an old sewer drain of some kind. They removed the cover, and Holmes looked at her then nodded. One man put their cleanest cover to line the hard ground. Holmes and the same man helped Donovan in first.

"Give me your gun," Holmes said. At Donovan's questioning look, he added. "If the worst happens, my hands are steadier than yours and that space is too small for me to reach it once we are both inside."

Sally nodded and passed her gun to Sherlock. She watched as two of the men helped him to shimmy his body next to hers. They were both facing each other, and Holmes hands were above his head in an awkward position. One of the men handed the gun to Holmes. The old woman smiled at Holmes who nodded. There were scraping sounds as things were moved in front of the cover to conceal the opening.

They both watched through the slits in the cover as the belongings were moved in front of them and darkness slowly swallowed them up.


	110. Chapter 110

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 110

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Important.** Multiple chapters so enjoy all at once or space out and read one a day.

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

"**Good chess strategy suggests you make your first move with the pawn in front of either your King or Queen…"**

… _King or Queen Part IV_…

* * *

**_"A friend in need is a friend indeed. "_**

~ Latin Proverb

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

John's lips were pulled tightly across his face. He did not notice that he was tapping his foot against the car floor as Mycroft's man drove. His mobile rang. He looked and did not try to hide the disappointment when the caller's number was not identified as Sherlock's. He briefly thought of not answering, but then decided that he could not take the chance that it could be Holmes.

"Watson," John said with impatience.

"Doctor Watson I've got a message for yah," A young sounding, familiar voice said.

"Who is this?" John asked as his mind tried to work out who it was. Curiosity and impatience battled equally within him.

"This is Milty, you know… Milty. I got a message from Mr. Sherlock. He's been hid, he needs your help. Somebody's after em and a lady's hurt." Milty voice was rushed and impatient.

John sat up straight in the back seat, suddenly at full attention. "Milty, tell me what you know."

* * *

Footsteps and muffled voices were heard. Sally felt Holmes chest as it rose and fell in quick rhythm. She felt Holmes entire body contract as if he was ready to fight. Bits of muffled conversations were heard.

"Have you seen a man and a woman running." A voice with a thick accent asked.

"Do you got a fiver mate. It might help loosen me tongue." One of the older homeless men spoke for the first time.

Sally inhaled sharply. Sherlock put his hand over Sally's mouth.

Sally heard the sound of flesh being struck followed by the click of a gun.

They could not see the gun that was pointed at the old man's head.

"Ah, now. Me ate wants no trouble mate," an anxious voice said quickly before adding. "Was it a bloke and a woman running that way, Theys acting like hell's fire was licking at them arse."

They heard a grunt as the homeless man was roughly thrown to the ground. Several footsteps quickly faded as the thugs ran in the direction that they were directed at.

It took Donovan five minutes to relax and realize that they were in no immediate danger. "They didn't betray us."

"No," she felt Sherlock's breath on her face and knew that he had turned toward her even though he could not see her.

"You knew they wouldn't betray us." Donovan said again.

"They're loyal." Sherlock seemed to shift his hands above his head.

All of Sally's energy seemed to have seeped out of her. She was pressed firmly against Sherlock. She gave up trying to keep a respectable distance long ago. There was simply no room, no space. She shifted her head toward what she assumed to be his chest and rested it there. She felt Holmes arms and body shivering slightly from fatigue. She now noticed that she was also shivering. At least she was warmer. The man's body generated heat, it was like being next to a radiator.

"You should try to rest your arms." Sally's tongue came out and licked her lips. "You should also relax. We're not getting any further apart Holmes." She was suddenly so thirsty. She was also sleepy. Maybe, she could close her eyes for a few minutes.

"Tell me about your childhood." Sherlock's voice floated into Sally's hearing. She blinked her eyes open. When did she close them?

Sally snorted before turning in the direction that Holmes face should be in. She blinked uselessly against the darkness. "So, suddenly you're Mr. Conversation. You're not interested at all. You'll probably not even listen. You just want me to talk so that I will stay awake."

"See Sally, we do know each other." Sherlock warm breath was on her face again. It smelled faintly of tea, mint, and tobacco.

"It's not as interesting as yours, I'm sure. Let me guess," She paused to think. "Everyone knows that you're from wealth. You had parents that adored you. You were spoiled rotten, your every wish was granted. You had a father so proud that he could not stop talking about his genius level son. On your tenth birthday, did you tell your dad in an annoyed voice to, stop being emotional." She lowered her voice to mimic Sherlock's baritone voice. "Did you tell them that, _Love is illogical_?" She sighed. "I bet you got a pony for your thirteenth birthday."

She felt Holmes body stiffen. He spoke in a low tone. "It was a horse, not a pony."

Sherlock would remember that day. His arm was broken, but it was not from a fall from his new horse like everyone believed.

If it were anyone else, but him, she would have said, his voice was regretful.

She was suddenly tired again

"Sorry." She was not sure why she said she was sorry, or why the seemingly innocent joke about Holmes childhood filled her with so much shame. She was quiet for a moment, and then spoke in hushed and whispered tones. She felt that she owed Sherlock something; that she had to give him something.

She winced as she took a deep breath.

"My grandparents were immigrants. My grandfather fought, during the war, for England and stayed afterward. He sent for my grandmother," Sally licked her lips again and cleared her dry throat before continuing, "… his fiancée, my grandmother at that time, followed a year later when he was settled and had a job that he could support her with." She spoke of childhood memories, and of nothing in particular. She spoke of sports teams, both the ones she loved and the ones she hated. She spoke, smiling sometimes and frowning other times. Sally was unaware of the miracle that was occurring next to her.

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consultant Detective, who thought most ordinary things boring, was listening.

* * *

Lestrade clinched his fists together as he looked out the window. Both Scotland Yarders and Mycroft's men were searching the area. They could not have gotten far.

One man was dead, another man was in custody. A third man, who was found unconscious in an alleyway, was in the hospital. Lestrade frowned as he thought. It seemed as if the men that were identified as part of a mob were taking bold chances. This made him wonder, how far would they go.

Lestrade's mobile rang. He frowned as he palmed the mobile and brought it up to his ear.

"Lestrade here," was the tense greeting.

John's voice answered, "Greg, I've just received a call."


	111. Chapter 111

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 111

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Important.** Multiple chapters so enjoy all at once or space out and read one a day.

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

"**Good chess strategy suggests you make your first move with the pawn in front of either your King or Queen…"**

… _King or Queen Part IV_…

* * *

**"_Almost on and off in echoes_**

**_Time is passing so slow_**

**_Dragging me deep._**

**_I don't fear anything in this place we're in._**

**_Will tomorrow bring all into light?"_**

When You Are Near - Carolina Liar

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sally had become mostly quiet. Occasionally, Holmes would ask a question to make sure that she was awake. Holmes was growing annoying. It was too dark to see a hand in front of the face, yet, he always seemed to know when her eyes were closing. To keep her awake, he would recall the details of some grisly case that he knew that she'd rather forget. He would threaten to keep talking until she opened her eyes, and kept her eyes open.

Sally's eyes were growing heavy again.

"Donovan," Sherlock whispered.

She blinked her eyes open. "I'm awake," She started to whisper back. She inhaled sharply. She winced at the pain that the action caused, then stilled suddenly.

The voices, they had returned, along with the sounds of running and shouting. Two sets of voices were shouting against each other. More footsteps joined now with light. The illumination from the torches flickered in shafts of light around the edges of the cover.

Sally felt Holmes chest as it rose and fell in quick rhythm. She felt his arm stiffen above their heads as he took aim with the gun pointed at the cover. His arm still shook from fatigue. Sally stiffened her lip and prepared.

Suddenly, one voice was louder than the rest. It had authority behind it that could not be ignored. John Watson's voice came closer. The voice of Detective Inspector Lestrade joined them. The scraping sounds returned, as the items that were stacked in front of the entrance to the old sewer hole, were rapidly disappearing. The sudden assault of light after complete darkness overwhelmed their senses, and caused both Donovan and Holmes to snap their eyes closed.

The was a flurry of activities as hands were suddenly on both bodies. Sherlock felt cold hands on the side of his neck feeling for a pulse. Words were spoken, some giving direction, and some were words of comfort.

"… Let go of the gun… Are you hurt… I've got you Sherlock…" John's voice drifted into Sherlock's ears.

"Taking a nap?" John asked with a forced smile.

"I was not napping, John," Sherlock said with a raspy voice. John's smile became real.

Sherlock now ventured to open his eyes, he saw John's face above his. Seeing John's face seem to drain away all the tension, and stress that he now realized that he was carrying. Holmes was upright. His arm was over John's shoulder. He was leaning heavily on Watson as he walked.

Two trolleys were being rolled up to them.

Sherlock turned as he tried to locate Donovan. "Donovan's hurt… abdomen… lower left side."

Donovan was lifted to a trolley and wheeled toward the ambulance. "Wait," She said with as much authority as her weakened body could muster.

Sherlock looked at her curiously. His eyes shifted to his hand. He looked puzzled at his hands that she now held onto weakly. He then looked back into Sally's eyes. Neither said a word. There was no need. Several officers including John, and Lestrade looked at the scene in disbelief.

"Sir, we have to go," a paramedic said.

Sherlock nodded and squeezed Donovan's hands. He watched as they wheeled her away.

Lestrade walked up to Sherlock as well as a paramedic with a trolley. Both men looked at the battered looking Consultant. Both men prepared for a fight. Sherlock had a faraway distracted look on his face. John and Lestrade looked strangely at Sherlock. John raised an eyebrow at Lestrade; it was his turn. Lestrade put his battle face on as he walked the few steps to Sherlock.

Lestrade took the preemptive strike. "There is a nice trolley here. We'll help you onto the lovely trolley. And look, here's a nice warm blanket." Lestrade carefully put the orange shock blanket over Sherlock's shoulders. "All cozy and snug." Lestrade pat the younger man's shoulder once.

Sherlock seemed to suddenly notice the blanket. His nose wrinkled. He opened his mouth to say something then looked at both men and closed his mouth with a pout. John looked at Lestrade impressed.

The emergency workers seemed to grow impatient.

Lestrade looked at the trolley now hopeful. "Sherlock…"

"No…" It was getting harder to speak for Holmes, "Back to the flat." Sherlock said with an increasingly raspy voice.

"Now Sherlock, be reasonable." Lestrade said.

John interrupted him. "Lestrade, hold him up." Lestrade frowned, but put his shoulder under Sherlock as he lifted him up. Sherlock swayed again and blinked heavily.

"Sherlock what's wrong with your voice. And would you please sit down before you fall on your arse." John raised his hand to Sherlock's neck feeling it.

The Consultant inhaled loudly and winced before he schooled his features and made his face blank. John noticed his friends attempt at hiding an injury. He just was not sure why Sherlock would try to do it now.

Without asking, John unwrapped the scarf around Sherlock's neck faster than Sherlock's hand could come up to stop him.

Both men stared wordlessly at Sherlock's neck.

"Bloody hell," Lestrade exhaled.

John said nothing. He instead looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock avoided John's eyes for a moment and looked beyond him. Seconds later, Sherlock closed his eyes and opened them as he leaned heavily on Lestrade.

Sherlock now looked into John's eyes; neither man said anything for a moment. Sherlock opened his mouth and whispered weakly. "I think I'll close my eyes now John."

As the world faded away, he heard four little words, "I've got you Sherlock."

* * *

Mycroft closed his eyes for a few seconds. No one noticed the break in Mycroft stoic exterior, but Anthea, and she pretended not to. Holmes had put down his mobile as he gracefully sat down and clicked his seatbelt closed. Anthea, and several agents sat close by as the preparations for the airplane to take off were made. Mycroft quietly looked around before noticing Anthea's rare smile. They were quiet for a few minutes then spoke.

"We lift off in fifteen minutes. Your appointment with the secretary of state for the US is in eight hours and fifteen minutes. Several reports are in, and we need your approval on three documents."

Mycroft was suddenly all business as he and Anthea discussed the agenda for the next day.

Anthea mobile rung as she listened, then looked at Mycroft. "Sir, Agent Myers wishes to have a word with you." She handed him the mobile. He listened for a few minutes in private, and then said, put her on.

"Mr. Holmes," Adler's voice floated in. By her voice tone alone, Mycroft already knew that she was on the move when she should be resting.

"Miss Adler, what do I owe the privilege?" Mycroft silky voice answered.

"I know how busy you are Mycroft, but I need to see you, soon I'm afraid."

"You know that you are welcome to stay at the manor. In fact, that is preferred. It would keep my brother from annoying me on a daily basis, as he make inquiries into your whereabouts." Mycroft read a message from Anthea, and signed a document as he spoke.

"I'm sorry Mycroft but, I need you to make the journey to me as soon as possible." Adler said evenly.

Mycroft stilled his movements.

The woman he was speaking to, almost brought the British empire to its knees. He considered her mind among the most cunning. His mind started deducing. There was something in the voice of the woman, which caused Mycroft Holmes to pay full attention to Adler and ask.

"Where?"

* * *

I hope that you enjoyed the extra chapters.

Fun Question: Agent Thomas needs a first name. You choose if you like. If no one chooses, then I will choose. The rules are simple. The most votes win. Pick from the list below or come up with one of your own and have another reader agree.

Have fun!

The choices.

1. Agent Lincoln Jefferson Thomas

2. Agent Brad or Bradford Charles Thomas

3. Agent Boswell Thomas

4. Agent Blake Thomas

5. Agent Trent Thomas

Comments are like tea. I need some tea right now.

Lots of Love.


	112. Chapter 112

**The next three chapters are dedicated to jack63kids. Thank you for always thinking of others. Happy belated Birthday. December 11****th****.**

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 112

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you: Danishprince (Charles by itself), sevenpercent (Robert, Charles or Christopher), mvignal (Blake), SWBloodwolf (Blake), Catie501 (Thank you for the multiple reviews, Boswell or Bradford), Bookworm Gal (Blake), Kitiara88 (Bradford), Guest (I am glad that you like the story), Benfan, (Blake or Andrew), gemstone1234 (Bradford Charles, Averett, or Conrad), HC (Bradford Charles), Hanging in there (I am glad that you are enjoying the story.), Guest (Blake), cim902 (Lincoln Jefferson, Boswell), Prothoe (Thank you for the multiple post. Blake), bruderlein(Geoffrey Jefferson),eohippus (Thank you for the multiple post**, **I am glad that you enjoyed Donovan), Socalrose (Dylan Thomas? Franklin or Frederick or Blake)**.**** To all Guest, thanks.**

Thank you ; HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for over 600,reviews. I appreciate you all.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Important.** Sorry for the delay. It was a small matter of cars crashing and me being in one of the cars. Thank God, apart from some pain, no permanent injuries. Here is something. I hope it is okay, if not I blame it on the pain medication. :]

**Note**: Danke is used to say thank you in one of the four major languages of Switzerland.

The results for Thomas first name are the following. Thank you for your overwhelming response were:

1. Agent Lincoln Jefferson Thomas - 1

2. Agent Bradford Charles Thomas- 3 both, Charles only- 3, Bradford only- 2

3. Agent Boswell Thomas- 2

4. Agent Blake Thomas- 8 ***(The winner)***

5. Other suggestions- Robert, Christopher, Andrew, Averett, Conrad, Geoffrey Jefferson, Dylan, Franklin, or Frederick)**.**

I will try to use most of the names in some way in the story.

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

" Each player begins the game with eight pawns, one on each square of the rank immediately in front of the other pieces. The pawns are the shortest and most numerous pieces in a chess set** …"**

… _The Day of the Pawn I_…

* * *

**_"Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart_**." ~ Unknown

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He slowly opened his eyes. The blurred edges faded away progressively as his vision sharpened and images became clearer and more defined. He frowned as he tried to trace the unbroken lines of events from earlier that morning. The low buzzing sound in his ear dissipated. He looked to his left at the early haze of colored lights outside the window. The sun would be rising soon. He remained motionless as his mind fog cleared completely, and his thoughts became more orderly.

He winced as he turned his head away from the window, and looked straight ahead. Sherlock took a deep breath and turned to the right where he heard a sigh.

"Awake," John said as a fact. He did not look pleased. His eyebrows were creased in the way that only John Watson could do.

Sherlock noticed His friend's expression and repressed his own sigh. "You have a natural talent for stating the obvious John." As he was trying to sit up, he bit his lips against the pain in his throat, and body. He tried resolutely, not to make a sound. Of course, he was not fooling John.

"Out with it John, you look unhappy." The Consultant Detective ventured a look at the man in the chair to his right.

John looked at Holmes for a minute. "Why would I be unhappy? Could it be that you ventured out by yourself, only seven weeks after nearly dying? Maybe it is the fact that you tried to hide an injury. Or, maybe it was because you turned off your mobile at a time when Moriarty could kidnap you?" John looked away for a moment before looking back at Sherlock. "I suppose that I could forgive you seeing as you've kept yourself and Donovan alive."

"She helped keep me alive as well." Sherlock's voice sounded hoarse and strange to his own ears. He did not see the look of surprise on John's face. His friend actually acknowledged Donovan's help.

Holmes sighed; it was a long, deep, and primal sound as he stared at the ceiling. White, nondescript, boring. He swallowed painfully. He noticed his clothes now. Ripped shirt, blood stained, his trousers were not in much better condition. He closed his eyes briefly, "I'm not in the Accident and Emergency**.****"**

The corners of John's mouth curved up into a smile. "I'm glad to see that knock on your head has not affected you in any way. Your observational skills are top notch."

Sherlock looked at John with a raised eyebrow.

John looked back. "You were half conscious, yet, still managed to punch one of the medical workers out. You were not too keen on anyone touching you. I managed to convince them that perhaps when you were more… lucid… it would be a better time to examine you. I'm sure the call from Mycroft helped to convince them that it was in their best interest."

He looked at the catheter that was taped to his arm. "They managed to get Intravenous Fluids into me."

"Actually, that was me. You would not allow the emergency workers near you. I managed to calm you down. You allowed me to put the IV into you and oxygen on you. That was just before you passed out again actually."

Sherlock looked at the offending catheter in his arm and frowned before his long fingers pulled at the tape. He felt John's finger on his and looked up. John was glaring.

"Sherlock, it is too early in the morning to give me a headache." John pushed him back onto the mattress with a glare and a fake smile.

"I'm awake now; there is no reason to remain here." Sherlock raised himself up again just to have John push him down. You get to be examined by the doctor or by me. You finish that IV and then," John exhaled in defeat. "We go home."

This got Sherlock's attention.

"As long as the exam confirms that there is no reason to keep you in the hospital," John clarified as he looked at Sherlock's hand and hit it. "And, leave that IV alone Sherlock!"

"Alright, stop hitting my hand!"

"If you stop trying to take out your IV!" John was losing patience. Both men just stared at each other for a moment silently. John entire body language changed, and his face took on a determined look. "Now that you're awake, shirt off. I'll do the examination, or I'll call one of the staff if you prefer."

Sherlock had a strange look on his face then he did something rare, he yelled at John, or attempted to shout. His voice broke. He simultaneously attempted to sit up, while he pushed his legs over the edge of the hospital bed. "Well, I'm leaving John. No one can stop me. I'll sign myself out against medical advice if I have to."

John moved closer in case his stubborn friend became dizzy. "Sherlock stop, or you'll force me to…"

Sherlock sneered. "What, call Mycroft? He's out the country. I would have thought even someone of your limited intellect, would have known that a threat has no power, if one does not have the ability to carry it out."

John folded his arms and looked calmly and quietly at Sherlock for a few minutes. "It's not going to work. I'm not going to walk out of here in a huff, and tell you to do what you want." He looked pointedly at the fingerprint shaped, deep purple marks on Sherlock's neck. "Are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to find out on my own?"

"Strangled," Sherlock glared at John while adding. "I thought you were a medical man."

Sherlock tried to look condescending, but John frowned when he noticed a quiver of his lip. His eyes also looked bright, as if there were un-ushered tears in them.

"As soon as that IV finishes, and you're up to it, we can go."

Sherlock looked at John with suspicion. "You aren't going to talk me into staying for observations.**"**

"No."

"Force an examination."

"No. But, that only applies if I find nothing else wrong."

Sherlock paused for a few seconds. "Who are you and what did you do to my flatmate?"

"Do you want to stay?" John crossed his arms.

"No-no no," Sherlock said immediately before going into a fit of coughing. John frowned and ran to get some water.

"Drink slowly, your throats quite bruised," John warned as he handed him the water.

Sherlock drank then started to cough, droplets of water were forcefully expelled with each cough. He struggled to breath for a few minutes and inhaled harshly. When his breathing finally evened out, he noticed that not only was John there, but several hospital workers, as well.

Sherlock frowned, "Joh…"

"Stop talking completely, Sherlock." Sherlock winced when he felt John's hands on his throat pressing. Sherlock tried, unsuccessfully, to hide more grimaces. John frowned as he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock eyes widened as he noticed something. John turned away from him and spoke quietly to the nurse. The nurse looked at the two oddly then retreated. She returned within minutes and handed something to Doctor Watson. Sherlock tried to see what it was, but John seemed to keep the mystery object, just outside of his field of vision.

A nurse came up to Holmes and handed him another cup of water. This one looked as if something was added to it. The water almost looked thick. Sherlock looked at John.

"It's to make it easier to swallow. Sip slowly." He heard John's voice from behind the nurse.

Sherlock smelled the water suspiciously. It was odorless. He frowned as he took slow sips. He almost choked again, but at the last moment, he felt the thick refreshing liquid descend down his throat.

Relieved, Holmes took a few more slow sips. The cool of the liquid was welcome against his abused throat.

He blinked his eyes a few times suddenly sleepy. He noticed in the back of his mind that John handed the nurse something right before his hands gently guided the drowsy detective back on his pillow.

Sherlock blinked as he looked at John. He opened his mouth to say something but forgot what he wanted to say. It was probably not important. He looked at the empty syringe and the drop of liquid on his IV port. He knew that should tell him something, but he suddenly did not care. He felt sudden movement as if his clothing was being removed, and replace with something else. Again, he did not care. He felt something firm that smelled strongly of plastic slip over his nose, and mouth, again he did not care. All he cared about was closing his eyes.

Sherlock heard John's voice as if far away saying, "Sleep Sherlock, I'll be here when you wake."

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time  
**_

Mycroft exited the aircraft and walked tiredly down the steep stairs. His grip on the handrails were a little firmer than normal. He had made a marathon of visits to countries in the last three days and had just left America for Switzerland. If the truth were to be told, he was eager to get back to England and Sherlock. He was glad that John and Lestrade were there to help watch over him. Footsteps of several agents sounded behind him as their shoe sole met the metal of the stairs. He stood still and took a moment to breathe the fresh, crisp air. The sun was about to rise, and the sky was lit with dimly colored displays of predawn light.

Anthea made her way to his side and stood silently. Several agents stood just behind them as several more talked into headsets and moved around alert as they waited for the motorcar to drive up.

A chill ran through Mycroft's exhausted body. He exhaled deeply as his warm breath met the chilled air that fogged in sympathy.

Holmes heard the sound of car tires on gravel at the same time that he heard Anthea's mobile ring. He ignored both sounds as he continued to stare at the colored area of the sky, which had managed to lighten even more, in the short time that he had been watching its progress.

The black colored BMW came to a complete stop beside them. Someone quickly exited the driver's door and walked over to the door to the back of the luxury motorcar. The driver wordlessly held the door open.

Anthea finished her call on the mobile and looked at her boss. "Sir, we have an address, Adler will be waiting."

He stood still a few minutes longer, before looking into the eyes of his ever-faithful assistant. Her eyes betrayed her exhaustion, as well. He gave her a rare genuine smile before saying. "Then I suppose, we better be off."

Not another word was spoken as the BMW disappeared, as it drove, toward the rising sun.


	113. Chapter 113

**This and the next chapter are dedicated to jack63kids. Thank you for always thinking of others. Happy belated Birthday. December 11****th****.**

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 113

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Important.** Sorry for the delay. It was a small matter of cars crashing and me being in one of the cars. Thank God, apart from some pain, no permanent injuries. Here is something. I hope it is okay, if not I blame it on the pain medication. :]

Note: Danke is used to say thank you.

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

" Each player begins the game with eight pawns, one on each square of the rank immediately in front of the other pieces. The pawns are the shortest and most numerous pieces in a chess set** …"**

… _The Day of the Pawn I_…

* * *

"_A brother is a friend God gave you; **a friend** is a brother your heart chose_." ~ _Proverb_

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Fourteen Hours Later**_

John ignored the sounds coming from the left of him. There was a frustrated sound as an oxygen mask was clumsily pulled off a face. Mild incoherent mumbling started to evolve into sentences. It was obvious to Doctor John Watson that his patient was less than thrilled.

"Morning sunshine." John said with a smile as he sat cross-legged in the hard plastic chair next to the hospital bed. He ignored the look that the waking Consultant Detective was giving him. The look would have been categorized as a glare, but the blinking, and drool on the side of the patient's mouth decreased the desired effect. Sherlock took his free hand and wiped the drool away.

Watson briefly glanced at his flatmate and friend before lowering his head again. He resumed reading the morning newspaper.

After a few moments, Sherlock was oriented enough to speak. He was not happy, "John." He said evenly. He closed his eyes for a few minutes before opening them again and talking.

"How Long?"

John responded without looking. "You were asleep for a little over fourteen hours." John turned the page of the newspaper.

"Was what you did even legal?" Sherlock blinked away the blur from his eyes.

John turned to the next page of the newspaper. "Probably not."

Sherlock took a second to assess his body and surroundings. It was not difficult to deduce what had happened. He exhaled noisily as he looked at his hospital gown. "You did all of the necessary examinations and treatments while I was… asleep."

John did not respond. He looked at the advertisement section now.

"That was devious," Sherlock looked at his friend. Half of him was annoyed beyond belief, the other half was impressed.

John peeked around the corner of the newspaper. "I've learned from the best, and you really need to use your voice as little as possible for at least another twelve hours."

Sherlock grunted as he pushed himself up from the bed. He begrudgingly had to admit that his throat felt better than before, and it was easier to get air in and out of his lungs. His throat did not feel as swollen. His body still ached, but felt better as well.

John folded the newspaper now and looked at Sherlock as he tried to get comfortable. Sherlock could almost feel John's eyes as they became like lasers into the side of his head.

After ignoring him for a few minutes, Sherlock turned to face him. He noticed John's body language and prepared for a battle.

"We both get injured frequently. Part of the business, I suppose. This is different. You're hiding something, and this is odd. There are two sets of bruises on your body. If it was a matter of your injuries being a result of your fleeing for your life, or the car crash, why try to hide it?" John eyes narrowed, before it traveled to the fingerprints on his neck again. "Someone came close to crushing your trachea. A little more pressure or a little more time and..." John looked away and frowned. He did not finish the sentence.

After a short time, he looked back at Sherlock. "You had to be immobile for someone to get that good of a grip on your throat. From what I understand, you two did not stop moving. What's this about?"

Sherlock did not answer but instead looked at John. It turned into a battle of wills. Surprisingly, Sherlock spoke first. His voice was a near whisper, his face held a false smile.

"You said to rest my voice, remember."

John looked at him for a few moments then got up and walked to the hook on the door. He removed one of Sherlock's suits. "You can start to get dressed. You should stay here for two more days, but I suppose, I could watch you from the flat."

John walked over to the bed and closed the door. "Let me know if you need help," he added.

Sherlock sighed relieved as he looked at John intently.

"I'll call someone to get the discharged papers. We can leave once someone has taken out the IV from your arm." John finished as he prepared to call the medical staff.

By the time Watson finished calling, the IV was halfway out of Holmes arms. John quickly moved to the younger man's side and gave him a sterile dressing. Holmes expertly applied pressure to the area where the catheter was removed from his veins. John gave Sherlock an exasperated look.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "For heaven sakes, you should have known that I was going to remove it."

John opened his mouth to argue but smiled instead. "Git."

Despite being sore, Sherlock dressed in ten minutes. John, with amusement, realized that that was the fastest that he had ever seen an injured Holmes get dressed. After testing his balance, Sherlock walked over toward the door to the hospital room.

"Your paperwork is not here yet," John said as if Holmes had forgotten that fact.

Sherlock waved one hand dismissively. "You have the legal right to sign for me John." Sherlock said as he grabbed his blue scarf and wrapped it around his neck in an attempt to hide the bruises. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

"Where're you off to?" John asked exasperated.

"Just a small matter." Sherlock's voice was starting to sound horse again.

"Oh," John said thinking, "Take flowers, she is in the main ward." He thought further. "Don't say anything stupid." John added as his friend walked away. "Pretend you're someone else for a few minutes."

Sherlock body stiffened. He stopped for a second then started walking again without looking back.

John smiled to himself. His smile died. He looked at his mobile. He called the familiar numbers. He listened as the line rang and was finally picked up. "Hi, Greg," he hesitated, "It's about Sherlock…"

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

The building itself was impressive. It was a combination of traditional architecture with bold modern touches of steel beams, large opened areas, and oversized glass windows. Charles Bradford and his fiancée walked into the bank and passed into a smaller area. They followed their guide, as he took them through yet another smaller, and more intimate, area. Their identifications were confirmed before the employee nodded to the guard and entered some numbers. A vault door swung open, and each person stepped through.

There were three walls with brass colored mini-vaults. The bank executive walked up to the safety deposit boxes that lined the middle. He looked for a mini-vault with the letter then number that corresponded to his brass colored key.

The executive spoke with a thick accent, "Your turn Mr. Bradford."

Charles took out an identical key and inserted it into the lock to join the first key. Both men turned the keys at the same time. The vault opened, and a lockbox was taken out and given to Mr. Bradford.

All three persons walked over to a private locked room. After opening the door, he stepped back.

"Danke," Mr. Bradford said. The man beside him nodded and retreated to give them privacy.

After the door was closed, the man and the woman looked curiously at each other. The man opened the safety deposit box and looked in. It was a simple note. The man read it and frowned. He looked at the mini black case and opened it. His frown widened as he closed it and slipped the case into his inner, suit vest pocket.

"I think it best that we leave as quickly as possible. We might be watched despite our precautions."

"Yes, Sir," the attractive brown-haired woman answered.

The man that everyone believed to be Charles Bradford picked up his umbrella, and walked out the door. The woman walked by his side. They both slid into the back seat of the BMW that waited outside the building.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sally exhaled deeply as her hand came to brush the sheets on both sides of her hospital bed. She had to stay until the morning. She winced as she adjusted her body on the bed. She looked at the telly, but then decided that she was not that desperate, at least not yet. She felt the prick of the IV catheter in her left hand as she pushed her body further up. She glanced at the half-empty bag of IV fluids. It would be removed, when the liter bag was finished. There were bruises on her face and body. There was a large wound dressing on her lower abdomen. She was lucky; the bullet just barely broke the skin. The bullet went deep enough to bleed impressively, but not deep enough to do permanent damage.

She turned as she heard a knock on the door.

She looked at the door curiously. "Come in."

She was shocked when she realized whom it was. "I was in the area." Holmes explained.

He walked over to her bedside. She noticed that he almost walked straight. He had dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he needed to be in a hospital bed himself.

Holmes looked her up and down before glancing at her IV fluids. She could almost hear the wheels in his mind turning as he tried to deduce the state of her health. She resisted the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.

His eyes finally came to rest on hers. She cleared her throat and motioned with her head toward the flowers in Sherlock's hand.

"Oh." The Consultant Detective looked at his hands as if he had forgotten that they were there. "John wanted you to have these. I think that it is sentimental rubbish. The flowers are just going to die, but… here you are."

"I'll put them next to the one that John already brought me."

"Oh." Sherlock said frowning. There was a tense moment of silence.

"So how are you," Sherlock finally asked.

"Good," Sally said quickly, "I'm good." There was a moment of silence before a smile curved the corner of her lips. "The truth is that," she hesitated, "I'm bored."

The corner of Sherlock lips curled, as well. "My sympathies."

Donovan looked Holmes up and down more closely. His face was bruised. Some bruises peeked out of the scarf around his neck. "You look a mess and sound like your voice is about to give out. How did you convince them to let you go so soon?"

Holmes cleared his throat. "I usually sneak out, but my efforts were, shall we say, thwarted."

"Doctor Watson," She said amusement in her voice.

There was another moment of silence, but this time, it was comfortable.

"I promised John that I would not be gone for long." He turned to leave, when her hand gripped his.

"Come here," She said simply. Sherlock looked surprised.

"I won't bite," Sally said as she motioned with one finger. He came close, and one hand pulled him down so that she could reach his cheeks.

She kissed him. "Thanks."

He looked at her surprised and amused before returning the kiss on her cheek.

"Well, I'd better be off." Holmes half turned to leave.

Sally squeezed Sherlock's hand while saying, "Don't worry, we can get back to being enemies tomorrow."

"Dull," Sherlock said as he started to walk toward the door. He stopped just before he reached it.

"An enemy is boring…, Now an arch enemy," He turned his body toward her, "Much… More… Interesting." He wiggled his eyebrows then walked away.

Sally mouth fell slightly open. "My God, Sherlock Holmes has a sense of humor."

They both did not see Anderson, who watched, glaring from around the corner. The flowers he purchased, laid crushed, and forgotten, by his feet.


	114. Chapter 114

**This chapter is dedicated to jack63kids. Thank you for always thinking of others. Happy belated Birthday. December 11****th****.**

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 114

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

**Important.** Sorry for the delay. It was a small matter of cars crashing and me being in one of the cars. Thank God, apart from some pain, no permanent injuries. Here is something. I hope it is okay, if not I blame it on the pain medication. :]

Note: Danke is used to say thank you.

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

" Each player begins the game with eight pawns, one on each square of the rank immediately in front of the other pieces. The pawns are the shortest and most numerous pieces in a chess set** …"**

… _The Day of the Pawn I_…

* * *

"He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal." ~ _Gregg Levoy_

* * *

Hjohn, I am thinking of you:)

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Nineteen Hour Later**_

_**Switzerland**_

Mycroft stilled his movements as his mind both listened and thought of Moriarty's possible next move. His eyes looked at Irene Adler. She looked different somehow. The relationship that his brother and Adler had with one another, seemed to have changed them in small, but significant ways.

He could only speculate about the details of their relationship. With Sherlock's memory loss, Mycroft had no doubt that John knew more about his brother's personal life than even his brother, at the moment. He also knew that John would not betray that confidence.

The part of Mycroft's brain that was listening to the conversation with Adler informed the rest of his brain that what she was now saying was pivotal.

"… It was two weeks before Moriarty kidnapped Sherlock. He came to me by himself. The majority of the time John was with him. Sherlock seemed unusually quiet and thoughtful. He wanted me to arrange a meeting with one of my sources. I arranged it. Sherlock was gone for two days, when he came back; he sat in front of the fireplace, quiet, and thinking."

Irene shifted in her chair and frowned. "I have the image of Sherlock sitting there, quiet, with his hands pressed together in that funny way he does when he's trying to figure something out."

Irene smiled, but her smile quickly left. "What started me worrying is that the night he returned, beside him, on the table, was an empty crystal tumbler." She looked at Mycroft. "You know that your brother does not usually drink alcohol. The rare times that he does, he takes a few sips then put it down. He does not want anything to interfere with his mind. But, there he was with an empty glass of alcohol that he managed to drink in minutes. He told me that I needed to disappear until he contacted me, but I was to text him daily so that he would know that, I was not in danger."

Adler's frown deepened and she changed positions again. Mycroft had never known Adler to be nervous, yet here she was displaying all the classic signs of it. She was hiding something, and debating with herself about whether or not to disclose it to him. Mycroft glanced over her body as he made a mental note. His mind calculated the probability of her disclosing that information to him. He knew his best chances would be if he remained silent and took on a sympathetic look. He could not be obvious about the manipulation; this was Adler. She had a superior mind.

He remained quiet and listened to her speak.

"Sherlock said that if anything was to happen to him, or if he died, I was to give you the information about the safety deposit box. You were to use the name of Charles Bradford. He also said to get a message to you." Irene looked at him now.

Mycroft looked back at her intently. In the back of his mind, he heard the door open and close from the other room. He was curious, but not concerned. The villa was safe, and several agents including Myers were guarding it.

"And that message would be?" Mycroft asked calmly as he looked into Adler's eyes.

"One word only, Lazarus." She was now the one to watch Mycroft for a reaction.

Mycroft kept himself from stiffening. He had no doubt that his brother's message was to warn him, in the event of his death that Moriarty was still alive. However, he knew Sherlock. A single word could have layers of meaning, and, unfortunately, he thought that he understood the intention of this word. If Mycroft was correct, it meant two things, God help them. Moriarty was even more of a lunatic than even he first believed. And, they had even less time than he once thought.

Mycroft looked away from everyone and went into his mind, thinking. Within a few minutes, an odd sound drew him out. He blinked a few times as he exited his mind and looked around for the source of the noise.

His eyes glanced around the elegant room as it came to rest on three additional persons who were in the room that was not there minutes before.

It was a man, a woman, and a child. They were all dressed as if they have had a long journey. The child that was in the arms of the woman was quietly whimpering as he fought against sleep. The child was small, more than a year, but less than two years old. Despite the typical baby fat that was on the child, he was all arms, legs, and chubby cheeks. Something was strangely familiar about the child.

He watched as the couple walked up to Adler who now stood with a smile on her face. The child wiggled his fingers and reached for Adler. The man who was referred to as the British Government stood. Mycroft was generally calculating. He carefully guarded; his eye movements, expressions, body language, his body movements, even the cadence of his voice. Yet, he now stood without realizing it, and his legs moved toward the child almost without his knowledge. Mycroft found himself next to the skinny, pale-skinned child. He looked into Adler's eyes. She looked back without flinching.

The child seemed to settle down in her arms as he sucked his thumb. The child suddenly seemed to notice Mycroft. His sleepy eyes bore into Mycroft. His blue-gray eyes seemed to almost look into his soul. The child looked at Mycroft, and a wet, popping sound was heard as he took his thumb out of his mouth and offered it to Mycroft. The child seemed to sense that the tall man next to him needed comfort.

"Maybe later," Mycroft said gently as he guided the chubby thumb back into the young child's mouth. He resumed sucking on it at once and resumed fighting sleep. Mycroft's hand came up as it ran through the child's dark curly hair.

He looked at Adler now as she rubbed soothingly on the child's back. "He's usually quiet, shy with most people. He seemed to take well to you; he is normally reserved. But, when he gets to know you, he is different, he laughs a lot. He is already speaking in single sentences, even though he does slur the words a bit, also, simple counting. He loves to be read to. The last time I was with him, he pointed out several words in his favorite book and said the words. He loves pirate stories for some reason. I think it's the excitement of it." She realized that she was babbling and stopped herself.

They were both quiet for a moment. Mycroft glanced at the child's face. The child's mouth was partially open, and his hand had fallen to his side. Mycroft realized for the first time that he was gently stroking the hair of the now sleeping child. The man, who prided himself on being emotionless, did not seem to care who noticed.

Adler steeled herself and looked into Mycroft eyes "His name is William, and he needs your protection, and also my two employees. Moriarty's search for me had brought him dangerously close to the child twice. Sherlock cannot know about this for now. Moriarty wants to punish me. Also, he has an obsession with Sherlock. If he was to find out that the child exist…" She frowned, but did not finish.

The child could have been Sherlock's twin. Genetically, looking at the child's appearance, and observing the young boy's mannerisms, there was no doubt, still; he had to ask.

"The child's full name would be?" Mycroft asked now openly frowning.

"William Boswell Holmes." Irene said.

"My maternal grandfather's name," Mycroft noted to himself out loud.

Irene handed the now sleeping child to the male. "This is James Conrad and his wife Clare." Adler watched him walk away carrying William with his wife close beside him. Anthea wordlessly directed them toward one of the bedrooms, after a brief glance toward Mycroft.

"They have been helping me care for, and hide William."

Mycroft's eyes became dangerous. "Why would you think that I would keep this… matter from Sherlock?"

Irene eyes flashed. She stepped into Mycroft's personal space and glared, looking up, at the much taller man. "We both would do whatever is necessary to protect Sherlock, including keeping information from him. He needs to focus. He is already at a disadvantage now. We both know that he does not handle… feelings… emotions well. Is this the right time to inform him of something so, life changing?"

Mycroft put his mask back on and said calmly. "Your logic is valid Ms. Adler. I will keep this between us." Irene exhaled relieved.

"For now, of course." He added smoothly with a false smile.

He looked at Adler and added. "You are concerned for him, but that is not the reason for my brother's ignorance of the fact that he has a son. You hide fear well, Ms. Adler, better than most. But, I can see it in your eyes." Adler bit her red lips subconsciously.

"There is more of a story here than I am able to get at now." Mycroft finally sighed tiredly. "With Moriarty, nowhere is protected right now. They might have been followed. There is one place that gives us, at least a better chance than the rest until I can sneak you both back to England. By taking you there, I would be endangering the life of someone I care about, but I see no other way on such short notice."

He turned to the smaller woman and smiled a genuine smile now. "You've better rest. We have to leave in a few hours, sooner if I can make arrangements."

Adler nodded and walked away. Mycroft's voice stopped her. "Ms. Adler, I will see no harm come to William as long as there is breath in my body."

"I know, Mr. Holmes." Irene said with a sad smile before walking away to pack again.

Mycroft made his way to the bedroom in which, Anthea indicated that the young child was laying. He quietly walked up and just looked at him sleeping. The thumb had made its way back into William's mouth again.

The years melted away. It was like looking at Sherlock when he was younger. Mycroft whispered to the air, "As you would say Sherlock, a bit not good, dear brother."

Mycroft looked for a few more minutes before walking away determined. His eyes held danger. He dared anyone including Moriarty to try to take, or harm the child.

* * *

A/N: I hope that you all enjoyed. Sorry for the delay. Thank you to all those of you who encouraged me through this time. Thanks, it kept me going. :)

I will relax and just read fan fiction for a few days while I continue to heal, then I'll get back to it soon, I promise.

Love to all.

Fun Question: In this story, Moriarty has a legitimate job before turning to crime because of boredom.

1. One idea is a university Professor, as a wink to canon.

2. Businessman.

3. Engineer.

4. Chef.

Other ideas welcome. I will not tell you which one I chose so that it will be a surprise. Have fun.


	115. Chapter 115

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 115

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you: gemstone1234( Thanks much, businessman), mvignal (Thank you for your comments, no chef), Bookworm Gal, (One shock coming), kassandwich (Thank you for your comments, businessman), briongloid fiodoir (A bit of a shock), bruderlein (Sally and Sherlock), Kitiara88 (Moriarty as a chef), macgyvershe (Thank you for the multiple post, best wishes) jack63kids (Thank you for the multiple post, wishing you the best), Guest (Thank you for your comments), Prothoe (Thank for the multiple post, you're the best), Catie501(Thank you, more surprises ahead), Benfan (Thank you Benfan, more ahead), eohippus (Thank you for your multiple post, businessman), Voldemort101 (I appreciate you), danishprince (Thanks for the check), Puky2012(feeling better, more ahead), socalrose (Thinking of you), **To all Guest, thanks.**

**Thank you for your response concerning Moriarty's job. Tea and cookies for all.**

Thank you ; cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.

**Warning*******.*** **M rated**, Moriarty's back. Need I say more? ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

**Happy Holidays.

"Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_…

* * *

"I never wonder to see men wicked, but I often wonder to see them not ashamed"

~Jonathan Swift

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

**_Remote Area of London_**

Close to the river, in an old industrial part of London, two laughing youths stumbled along as they took turns pushing one another playfully. They both knew it was much too late to be still outside, but they were not willing to head home yet.

The older of the two felt an abrupt yank on his shirt hem that caused him to stumble again. He turned to look at his mate as he heard his name called.

"Andrew."

His laughter died down when he turned around and looked at the younger, yet braver, youth. He followed his friend's eyes toward an abandoned warehouse. It was just one of many such buildings, which were in the rundown part of town. Some buildings were in the process of renovation; most were left at nature's mercy to deteriorate and decay slowly.

They came to a set of two gigantic warehouses that were set a good distance apart from the rest.

"What are you thinking Dylan, I know that look in yah eyes mate." His friend did not answer. Andrew huffed impatiently as he watched his friend. The young man started to walk toward the side of the large building wordlessly. He watched as Dylan soon broke into a slow, quiet run.

"Dylan!" Andrew hissed as he watched him disappear toward the back of the building. The older friend cursed under his breath for several minutes before following behind nervously. He quietly entered the darkened building. He gave his eyes time to adjust. He turned on his mini torch that he carried along for such adventures. He moved his head around as his eyes squinted. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, he was not sure why. This was not the first time that he had followed his friend and done questionable things. It probably would not be the last. He had to admit that as much as he complained, Dylan was exciting.

Andrew wandered around for a short time as he whispered his friend's name. An unexpected hand on the back of his shoulders startled him. He turned to notice Dylan's toothy grin.

"I should be sectioned for coming in here after yah," Andrew hissed angrily.

Dylan said distractedly, "Stop crying on. You always say that, but you always follow." He led the way along an extended corridor, which approached an opened area.

"Be quiet," He warned as he slowed his steps and stayed in the shadows. Andrew noticed filtered light coming from ahead. The clicking sound, as Andrew turned his mini torch off, sounded much too loud in his anxious mind. The further they walked along, the easier it was to make out shapes in the dim light. They came to a rail that overlooked an opened area. The open area's floor was one level lower than they were.

"Look." The younger of the two whispered.

Andrew squinted as he looked down over the rail. There was a small amount of light that filtered through the long, but narrow windows close to the roof of the opened area. His eyes widened, and he let out an involuntary gasp as he quickly slammed his body back against the wall. He seemed determined to disappear deeper into the shadows.

"Quiet!" His friend hissed urgently.

"T…That looks like a… a…body." Andrew whispered as he tried to ignore the sudden urge to vomit.

"Yeah," Dylan said as he half smiled, "Chill mate." The young man's smile widened. "I notice some people coming in and out late at night sometimes, maybe the mob. Now and then I'd find… stuff. This is the first time I've seen a body."

"Mob?" Andrew felt the nausea come back.

"Do you think he's still alive?" Dylan moved a little closer.

"The mob?" Andrew whispered back frozen.

"I think I saw it move," Dylan sounded excited. He felt a hand grab him and pull him backwards. "What are you doing?"

"We're getting outta here before we're laying beside that man." Andrew had the advantage of size and was manhandling his smaller friend.

"Piss off," Dylan twisted his arm out of his friend hands angrily. "Stop being such a wanker. I've never seen a dead body before; I'm getting a closer look."

"No you're not! Even you can't be that insane." He poked his friend in the chest angrily. "We're leaving now…"

They both were suddenly still as they heard movement coming from the area that they just left. It took Andrew a few seconds to be able to move. And, several more to realize that Dylan was gone.

Andrew whispered several curses before he moved as quietly as possible to find him. When he did, Dylan was hidden in the shadows shaking. Andrew looked in horror as several men stood over the man on the table. A well-dressed man in a suit took out a scalpel and positioned it above a now bare chest. The scalpel started to descend and move. The man's gloves quickly became colored. The light that filtered through the windows, cast eerie shadows on the men, equipment, and body. The scene mimicked some dark Machiavellian play.

Andrew's shaking arm was on Dylan. He felt the younger man tremble. They carefully and quietly back away from the gruesome scene in front of them.

Dylan was as white as a sheet. He did not argue or resist this time, when his friend urgently, quietly led him away. The last sounds that the terrified young men heard were muffled and weakened groans.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Mrs. Miranda Holmes sat on the chair as she sipped another cup of coffee. Mycroft's call had been short, cryptic, and at an odd hour. She insisted on sitting up to wait for him. She had only seen him twice since the treatment for her illness proved to be successful.

The first time it was to tell her that her youngest son was dead. The second time was to tell her that her youngest son was alive.

It was Sherlock that convinced her to go into hiding for her protection. Both of her sons had powerful enemies. It was her older son, however, that convinced the world that he buried his mother, a few weeks after burying his younger brother, Sherlock.

Mycroft came up with the idea to hide her away under her maiden name. She trusted Mycroft completely and followed his request to the letter.

She glanced around and noticed the several new agents that arrived within hours of each other. Thomas was busy. He even put on his suit. She had not seen him in a suit in months. He glanced at her strangely as he listened, and spoke into his headset. She resisted the frown that wanted to express itself on her face. She instead took another sip. Her mind wandered as her fingers played with the cup's rim.

Her attention, along with everyone in the room, turned toward the opening door. Anthea, several agents, a man and a woman walked into the room. She noticed Mycroft walking next to a beautiful dark-haired woman who was holding a sleeping child.

It was the way that her oldest son walked closer to the woman, and invaded her personal space that made her take a closer look at the child. Mycroft had one hand on the back of the child that the woman was holding.

It was something about the young child.

Miranda did not notice that she lost the battle. A frown was properly placed on her face.

A few agents came in afterward.

She glanced at Thomas. His eyes traveled over the small group. He then openly stared at the child for several seconds. Mrs. Holmes noticed Thomas looking at her. He then turned his attention to assigning the other agents.

Miranda did not notice that her feet carried her to the child. She looked at the woman. She looked at her eldest son.

Mycroft sighed tiredly before saying quietly. "I think it best if we sit down."

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

John walked into the larger room; he stopped to look at Sherlock. His friend was standing by the window, looking out, quietly. He had stood frozen there since they entered their flat ten minutes ago. John noticed that Sherlock swayed slightly. It was obvious that the strong pain medications that he was given in the hospital were wearing off.

John frowned and exhaled. His frown deepened, and he walked up to Sherlock and wordlessly held a cup of tea toward Sherlock. Without looking, he reached for the tea that John offered. Instead of taking a sip, he held the cup cradled in both hands. It was as if he was trying to draw the warmth from it. John looked out the window for a few minutes quietly. John opened his mouth as he prepared himself for an argument.

"No," Sherlock said before his friend could speak.

"You just got out the hospital, you should be lying down."

"I seem to find myself in hospitals quite frequently of late. I would sleep all of the time if I laid down each time I came home from one."

John frowned.

Sherlock took his first sip. "I don't understand all the intricacies of a joke, but I thought that my comment was amusing."

"Keep working at it mate," John lips turned up into a smile before he took another sip.

Sherlock looked at John for the first time since arriving. They seemed to search each other and carried on an entire conversation at the same time.

Sherlock frowned. "I'm fine John."

John looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock turned away from John's scrutiny and looked back out the window.

Sherlock swayed slightly, and John's hand came up quickly to steady him. After a few seconds, Sherlock opened his eyes apologetically. He noticed both teacups spilled on the floor and the wetness to John's jumper sleeve.

"I see you're fine," John commented dryly. "Why do you refuse to at least sit down?"

"I have to think John. Moriarty has left me a … message. It's almost over, his test. The sign of four. One test has already begun. I can not afford to lose. The stake in his games are always high."

"Sit Sherlock, tell me about it. I'll get more tea and something for pain." John held up his hand to stop Sherlock's protest. "Lestrade is on his way over. Shut your eyes until he gets here. I won't lie and say that I'll keep you awake. But, I won't let you sleep long."

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, and then closed it when he noticed John's face. He looked at John for a few seconds. He took off his jacket and draped it over the chair as he walked past it. He gracelessly collapsed on the couch. One hand dragged on the floor.

John walked over to Sherlock and looked down. Sherlock's eyes were closed. John placed his hand on the couch arm, right above, Sherlock's head.

"We still need to talk." John did not receive an answer. He sighed then turned to get his friend something to drink.

As he put two sugars in Sherlock's tea, a voice traveled from the other room.

"I know," Sherlock's baritone voice was barely above a whisper.

Sherlock was already asleep when, moments later, John returned to the other room.


	116. Chapter 116

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 116

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Warning*******.*** **M rated**, Moriarty's back. Need I say more? ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

**Happy Holidays.

" Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_…

* * *

"**_When choosing between two evils, I always like to try the one I've never tried before."_** ~Mae West

* * *

**_Two Days Ago_**

Everyone was whispering. Although everyone was speaking quietly, the sheer number of people that were in the room still made the room buzz with noise.

A large number of men sat at the massive table. The walls were lined with muscular men who stood silently by as they looked for danger. Outside of the secluded building, there were several more men, who walked about with hidden guns.

The tension in the room was so thick that it could be cut with a knife. There were bosses of crime syndicates from around the world. All had consulted with the Criminal Consultant before, but none of them had ever met him personally or even knew his name. At least none of the bosses did before Mycroft let Moriarty's personal information, including his name, spread to all the leading terrorist, and criminal organizations around the world.

Moriarty had called the meeting, and almost everyone showed up. And, showed up on time. Normally in meetings such as these. Moriarty would send a representative, or communicate on a speaker. No one would see his face. No one, but a few would know his name. But, today, it was rumored that the man himself would be there, personally. No one dared to say the word that was rumored to be his name.

There were bosses from Britain, Ireland, Germany, Russia, Japan, Yemen, America, and several countries around the world, particularly the Middle East. In the room, there were also some men in military outfits. Several more men in suits were also in attendance.

There was a distinct click sound. It was as if someone held up a sign that said _Quiet._

There was an eerie stillness. Everyone's attention was suddenly on the door that opened. It was located on the far end of the long room. Every eye followed Moriarty as he walked into the room. Most people averted their eyes as he walked by them. Sebastian Moran and several bodyguards as well as a woman in a suit followed. The sound of their feet hitting the ceramic floor sounded unusually loud. Moriarty eyes glanced over each face despite the averted eyes. The Criminal Consultant's eyes did glance but did not linger on the empty chair.

Jim Moriarty did not lose his flair for the dramatic. He stood at the head of the table but did not speak. He waited as his people took position close to him. Two of his men moved toward the wall and blended along-side the men that were already there. He stood perfectly still for two minutes. During that time, three men walked into the room.

Every eye was on the late comers, except Moriarty who ignored the men. Some people were starting to stare at Moriarty openly now. He was utterly expressionless.

There was no explanation offered by the Irish boss. He had a slight smirk on his face as he sat down and leaned back. Franklin O'Conner made a point of staring at Moriarty as his men disappeared along the wall and stood with the other guards and their second in command.

Eyes shifted between Moriarty and the Irish boss. They waited for a reaction from Moriarty. There was none.

"Gentlemen," Moriarty's snake-like smile appeared as he looked at the only woman who was a boss and added, "… and ladies. Most of you have traveled far for this meeting so I will get to the point."

Moriarty walked around as he glanced at the faces with downcast eyes. "Well, look at me!" He shouted unexpectedly. "I don't bite…" his smile became obviously false as he added quietly, "… Much."

The was another brief pause.

"Today I stand here as a revolutionary, it is as a revolutionary against the Revolution." He paused almost reverently. "Adolf Hitler said that. You have to love the guy. Although he was lazy. He did not live up to his full potential. Let's be careful that history does not accuse us of the same."

Strange looks came from some attendees in the room**. **

"Everyone in this room, have come to me to solve a problem or two. And, you should. That's what I do. I solve problems. I make people happy. It would bring a warm feeling in my heart if I had one." Moriarty winked at the latecomer.

"Many of you are so misunderstood. You are called villains, terrorist…" He walked over to one of the men in uniform and pat his shoulder in a supportive manner, "You are called war criminals. These things are a matter of interpretation." Moriarty waved one hand in the air dismissively.

Moriarty walked back toward where the Irish boss sat. He walked to the front of the table but did not sit down. "I disagree with one part of Hitler's statement. I am not against a Revolution. I want to bring one about."

Moriarty looked at some of the men in uniforms. "I am sure everyone would agree. We need a Revolution. You might desire a revolution, but you are lacking in the knowledge of how to bring it about at this crucial period of world history. You have the desire for change, the bravado; unfortunately, you have one thing lacking, me," he paused, "But don't worry. This is your lucky day."

Moriarty's speech was interrupted by a snickering sound that was heard at the end of the table. A thick Irish accent spoke out mockingly. "I've been quiet for most of your speech, but I have to ask a question." He leaned forward and the false smile stayed on the Irish boss's face. "Why should I join your Revolution?" He looked Moriarty up and down. "You're supposed to be this big scary bad-arse. But, the only thing I see before me is a little man with a big mouth. You know you're not so scary now that I've seen you."

Moriarty sat down and started to slice his apple and put pieces into his mouth. He crossed his legs and laid one hand casually over the arm of his chair. He had a satisfied look on his face. He almost resembled a happy schoolboy who had just returned from playing outside.

O'Conner looked at Moriarty oddly. "Is that little knife supposed to intimidate me? My lad has a knife that's bigger." He ignored the looks from the other members of the large room.

Sebastian Moran looked at Moriarty's expression and started to smile.

Moriarty looked at him and asked, "Apple?" He chewed on another slice of the apple and rolled his eyes. "This is simply delicious," he sighed. "Sorry, where are my manners. Do you want a slice?"

The Irish boss looked at Moriarty strangely for a moment before he stood up to leave. "I think that I've wasted enough time," O'Conner commented as he buttoned his dress jacket. "Jim," The boss said. He took several steps before Moriarty's voice stopped him.

"You have a long trip; I brought you a few snacks for your journey. It's quite...fresh." Moriarty place a small cloth bag on the table, and then took another slice of apple.

O'Conner, his second in command, and his bodyguard all stopped moving.

O'Conner frowned for the first time as he walked over to the table. The fact that the cloth bag had blood soaking through in several places was not lost on him.

The Irish boss slowly opened the bag. He looked inside and placed the bag down gently. His face expressed a grim look. He swallowed around the lump in his suddenly dry throat.

Three mobiles simultaneously rang. The two men that accompanied him looked at the unmoving man, and the bag, as they answered their mobiles. Both men looked pale. Pictures came to all three of the mobile phones.

Moriarty looked at the men with an uninterested expression as he reminded them, "You have a choice here, don't you?"

One of the two men took out his gun and pointed it at Moriarty with shaky hands.

Moriarty looked him in the eyes, bored. He took another bite of his apple. O'Conner mobile continued to ring in the background.

The man with the shaking hands closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then moved the gun to the side of his head. Moments later, a gunshot was heard.

Within a few seconds, a second gunshot was heard.

"Well, don't be rude. Answer your mobile." Moriarty advised as he took his last bite of apple and stabbed the knife on the long table next to the man's hand.

O'Conner blinked his eyes a few times then answered his mobile. He listened to the panic-stricken voice on the other line. "It'll be alright love," he said simply before he hung up with regret.

"What do you want?" The Irish boss asked. He frowned and added, "Mr. Moriarty." This time his voice was not mocking. It was just a whisper.

Moriarty took the cloth bag and emptied the contents on the table. Most everyone in the room were silent, but there were one or two gasps heard before the room became quiet again. Several people glanced at their mobiles.

Moriarty looked at the table before speaking. "I have the right already; let's try the left this time." Moriarty paused and glanced at his knife. "I hear that your son is… I mean was a gifted pianist. Long slender fingers." He now glanced at O'Conner's hand. "Runs in the family I see." There was a slight pause. "If you hurry, the only thing your boy will need, is a new hobby."

The Irish boss looked around dazed for a few seconds before he noticed the knife sticking in the wooden table. He pulled it out the wood and picked it up.

"Not here. I wouldn't want my suit ruined. In the corner, you can sit on the floor if you like." O'Conner looked at Moriarty for the first time in minutes.

"Well off with you. Go for the gold." Moriarty said distractedly as he sent off a quick text. The Consultant Criminal now ignored the Irish man as his employees started to move around and an oversized projector screen descended.

O'Conner quietly got up and walked toward the corner of the room. Sebastian followed the man.

It did not take O'Conner very long; his father was a butcher. Everyone in the room was relieved when they heard the third bullet being fired. It was getting difficult to concentrate with O'Conner moans and screams.

Moriarty's voice broke the silence.

"You must have questions, let me take a moment to answer them," he said as he uncrossed his legs and stood again. "It's all true," he paused and smiled before continuing. "Yes, I am handsome as the devil, and an impeccable dresser."

He smiled falsely again. "I hope that your curiosity about me has been completely satisfied." Moriarty's false smile left. He was all business. "Now that I've answered all your questions, do I have your full attention?"


	117. Chapter 117

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 117

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** **T rated**, ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

**Happy Holidays.

" Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_…

* * *

"**_The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man be perfected without trials."_**

~Danish Proverb

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Photographs of the seven out of the eight victims were on the back wall. The Consultant Detective had concluded that the first letter of the victim's first names spelled out his name. Sherlock spoke rapidly as he paced back and forth. John listened from the kitchen as he prepared some tea and coffee.

"He used their first names to spell out my name. First names are intimate, personal."

Holmes pointed to the pictures on the wall. "**S**alford, **H**enry, **E**aton, **R**onald, **La**nford, **O**rren, **C**orey, and **K**en."

"S.H.E.R.L.O.C.K."

"They were killed in that order. There is a message hidden in the murders. Something that I am not getting. I'm too slow today, what is it?"

"What is it?" Sherlock hissed with frustration.

"I'm missing something here. The sign of four. Data, I need more data! I need the photographs and evidence from the latest crime scene." Sherlock started to pace again. "Stevenson is on forensics tonight?" Sherlock did not address Lestrade directly, but everyone knew he was speaking to the DI.

"No, Anderson is, but Stevenson is taking over for him, Sherlock. She will be bringing the evidence here as soon as traffic allows." Lestrade said wearily.

Lestrade hesitated before speaking again, "You okay Sherlock. Your behavior is a little… odd tonight, even for you." Lestrade tried to sound as if he was joking, but he was serious. "You've asked me who is on Forensics twice now. Aren't you the one who always tells me how you hate repeating yourself."

Sherlock glared irritably at Lestrade before beginning his muttering again.

"Moriarty sent me a message tonight… The fact that all of the victims were my approximate build and height was suggestive." Sherlock stopped pacing and stared at the picture-filled wall again.

Lestrade was used to the way that Sherlock's mind worked. He listened. Asked questions and did make comments at times, but mostly, he allowed him to talk.

"The red roses were a clue. They had a double meaning. A red rose can represent many things, love, beauty, courage, respect, or romance. Moriarty has the idea that we are in some kind of partnership, some relationship, a romance."

"The victim's blood was drained thoroughly. He wants to remove, or drain everything that he considers negative from me. Their mouths were filled with red roses. He wants to fill me with himself in a sense."

"What does this Moriarty character consider negative?" Lestrade asked.

"Good, anything society considers good," Sherlock answered distractedly.

Sherlock glanced at John as he entered the room then looked back at the wall again. John was fighting his own irritation, and concern. Sherlock needed to take a break. He also knew that, at this point, it would do more harm than good to point out this fact. John conceded the fact that Sherlock did sleep briefly. It was best to wait before making further demands. With Sherlock, it was best to choose the battles.

John brought tea for the two officers and Lestrade into the room. He discreetly placed a cup of tea close to Sherlock. He was glad that Mrs. Hudson was visiting her sister. He had a feeling that Moriarty was not finished playing. What Sherlock told him about Moriarty had him on edge. He spoke with Mycroft briefly. He was told that the elder Holmes would be heading back to England in a few days, instead of tomorrow, due to an unexpected complication. He handed the coffee to Lestrade.

"Thanks," Lestrade took a sip and smiled. The last thirty hours have been long. He was caffeine deprived. Because of Sherlock and Donovan's attempted kidnapping and the press conference, there had been hours filled with a lot of worry, and remarkably little sleep.

Lestrade heard Sherlock's impatient sigh. So, Greg thought, he is back to impatient and annoying.

"Can you take a slower sip?" Sherlock said irritably as he crossed his arms.

Lestrade purposely took an excruciatingly long sip and then spoke. "You know Sherlock, you can keep speaking. I can take sips and listen at the same time, I'm rather talented."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Doing more than one thing at a time decreases the concentration in most people by fifteen percent or more. Not me of course."

Sherlock looked pointedly at Lestrade, "We both know that Scotland Yard's finest does not need anything to interfere with their already diminish, deductive skills."

"Sherlock!" John hissed.

Sherlock ignored John and held Lestrade's gaze defiantly.

Lestrade clenched his jaws together. He had forgotten how irritable Sherlock was when he was not feeling well or hiding pain. With all the facial grimaces, he'd seen on Sherlock's face in the past hour, it was obvious that he was in pain. He was trying to ignore it in typical Sherlock fashion.

The DI's eyes narrowed as he looked at the smirk on Sherlock's face and the challenge in his eyes. When he first walked into the flat. Sherlock looked so poorly he felt sorry for the younger man. Now he resisted the urge to slap him.

The two officers had become quiet and were looking from Sherlock to Lestrade.

Lestrade took yet another sip and looked at Sherlock. "I think that we can mottle through, even with the eighty-five percent of our brain that's left to us."

John groaned inwardly when he saw the look on Sherlock's face. He watched Sherlock plaster a false smile on his face. He opened his mouth but thankfully, Lestrade's phone rang.

"Lestrade here," he said as he still stared at Sherlock. He immediately forgot about his irritation with Sherlock.

"When?" Lestrade was silent as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone line.

Sherlock moved closer. He noticed the slightly nauseated look on the face of the seasoned veteran police officer. His mind was already thinking of the different possibilities that it could be. None were pleasant.

After several minutes of silence, Lestrade disconnected the mobile and looked at the small group. He was silent for a few minutes more.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock strangely."They found that agent that was following you when they attempted to kidnap you."

"There is something different Lestrade. What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"There was a note on the body." Lestrade said simply. Sherlock knew that there was something else.

"That's Towson, right?" John asked concerned.

"Yes, Agent Robert Towson, I was told." Lestrade looked at Sherlock, frowning.

"Greg, is he dead?" John asked with a grim look on his face.

"No," Lestrade said with an expression of pity. "The poor bastard is alive."

There was a sound. Everyone turned and looked toward Sherlock's jacket. The sound came again.

Sherlock phone chimed to notify him that he had an email waiting.

* * *

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy holidays. Be safe everyone.

Let me know what you think.

Love and Peace.

Zacha


	118. Chapter 118

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 118

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you for your recent post: socalrose (Thank you for the multiple post, more chapters.), Bookworm Gal, (More creepy and crazy.), Prothoe (Thank you for your multiple post. Some questions are answered.), Catie501 ( More to come.), gemstone1234 ( How long can Sherlock keep going?), eohippus (Thank you for your multiple post. Thanks for your Christmas story.), bruderlein (Some questions start to be answered.) Kelllie (Thanks, more to come), To all Guest, thanks**.** Sdale05, danishprince, Voldemort101, and Puky2012, thanks for the PMs. More to come.

Thank you ; jack63kids, kassandwich ,macgyvershe, cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.

Note: IV is also called a saline fluid or Intravenous fluids.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

" Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps… Part I_

* * *

"_**I ask you to judge me by the enemies I have made."**_ ~ Franklin D. Roosevelt

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

In an old industrial warehouse by the river, men in suits walked around as they spoke into their earphones. Several representatives from Scotland Yard were there, as well as Mycroft's men, and his agent, who was in charge. No one commented on the blood or other unpleasant things that were on, and below the area that some kind of crude operation took place. Everyone was on edge.

The agent in charge looked at the gruesome scene in front of him as he walked carefully to avoid the blood. His experience eyes took in details as he scanned the open area for the second time. The injured agent was being carefully unhooked from the medical equipment that he was attached to.

There had been two phone calls to the authorities. The first was from someone who sounded like a frightened youth. The youth gave a location and hung up after stating that he was afraid, and did not want to be involved.

There was a second call.

The voice from that caller had been collected, calculating, and had a hint of amusement. It said that there was a gift for Sherlock Holmes from his biggest fan.

The agent in charge ran a hand through his graying hair. He wondered what kind of human being would consider what was left of the agent before him, a gift.

Changes in the sounds behind him drew his attention away from his thoughts. He turned around and looked at the medical workers and his injured colleague. The paramedics and several men tried to lift the injured man as gently as possible. The only indications that he was alive were the shallow rise of his chest, and the gentle moan that was so quiet that a loud breath would have overshadowed it.

Agent Robert Towson was successfully lifted up, and onto the waiting trolley. Two medical workers moved carefully yet swiftly to secure the injured man.

Tactical units were positioned outside and nearby, to ensure that whoever did the monstrous act to the agent, would not make a reappearance.

It was still too early in the morning for the sunlight to shine. The rhythmic flashing lights of emergency vehicles broke the darkness. Several persons walked beside the injured agent as he was wheeled through the warehouse doors, and into the night. The quiet contrasted dramatically with the sounds of shouting, and the wailing of emergency vehicles, as they pierced the stillness of the night.

It took a few seconds for the agent in charge's eyes to adjust as he followed the trolley outside. The damp, musty smell of the nearby river filled him as he took a deep, frustrated breath. He turned scanning as he looked for danger. This did not hinder his steps.

The body quickly reached the ambulance doors. Agent Towson was lifted into the ambulance. Several men with outstretched hands pointed their guns into the darkness. The agent climbed into the ambulance and sat beside the trolley. Several more agents entered their motorcars and followed the now moving vehicle.

He watched carefully as the wounded agent was secured to the ambulance. The Intravenous fluid he was connected to, was clamped closed. The plan was to disconnect the IV tubing that he was found with, and then prepared to connect their own saline IV. They never got the chance. The injured agent started to shake slightly. His breathing became labored.

"Unclamp the IV that he was found with." The middle-aged paramedic ordered rapidly.

His younger partner quickly reopened the tubing, and the odd colored liquid started to slowly dripped again.

Agent Towson's vitals evened out again within seconds. He was barely alive to begin with. The paramedics were in contact with the hospital, and everyone knew that his abused body could not take much more.

"What happened," The agent in charge that rode along asked. He looked at his injured colleague with concern.

The middle-aged paramedic looked at the dark colored liquid suspiciously. "Whatever the IV fluids they've connected him to, seems to be keeping him from going into a seizure. If he does go into a seizure, he might be too weak to survive."

The agent looked grim as he nodded his understanding. He pushed the earpiece on his mobile to connect a call. His mind thought as he tried to piece the current events together into some kind of pattern. The other phone line was answered on the second ring.

"Sir, there are some things happening that you should know about."

The paramedic ignored the conversation. They were busy. They worked to keep the wounded agent breathing. Those who worked on the mutilated man were not sure if he would have thanked them.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Something in the atmosphere shifted.

It was not notable to anyone in the room except for John. It was the tension in Sherlock's back. It was the slightest of pauses in his movement. To everyone else in the room, it appeared as if the Consultant Detective was deep in thought. Only John could interpret Sherlock's body language well enough to notice. John noticed that Sherlock's body was suddenly tense. He now appeared as if he were ready to defend himself against an attack.

What changed, John asked himself. John looked around.

"Sir, here are the photograph and files that you requested."

John looked around the room. Sherlock had been stressed since the e-mail and picture of the injured agent was sent to his mobile, but not to the current degree. John glanced around the room again. Nothing unusual was taking place as far as the personnel in the room.

Anderson's voice floated from behind. He spoke for the second time. "Where would you like it?"

The room was bustling with activity. John moved again to get a better angle of the entire room. He moved as casually as possible. He held his tea in his hand and disappeared into the opposite corner the way that Sherlock taught him to. John was attempting to hide in plain sight. To blend into his surroundings and in doing so, disappear.

Something was off. John Watson fought against his own fatigue. He blinked a few times to clear his vision. He had been up for hours keeping watch over Sherlock as he slept in his hospital bed.

"Sherlock," Lestrade spoke to Sherlock but looked at Anderson. "Where do you want it Sherlock?"

Sherlock did not answer. Everyone assumed that he was in his usual, _ignore everyone until I need them to do something for me_, mood. Nevertheless, this made John more alert.

Anderson walked up to Holmes and held out the photos. No one but John and apparently now Lestrade was paying attention. Several more officers had joined the small group at the flat. There was a low buzz of noise and activities as officers moved on laptops, spoke on their mobile, and walked in and out of the flat. Two of Mycroft's men were on route to the flat. They would join the one agent that was currently there. A new agent replaced the injured one. Mycroft made it clear that he expected 221B Baker Street monitored closely.

Lestrade was suddenly quiet. He ignored the noise and voices around him. He looked at Sherlock. In the opposite corner of the flat, John was doing the same.

The proof that the Consultant Detective was not a stone came when he inhaled a short breath. His eyes suddenly glanced at the photographs as his hand came up. He closed them under his chin in the prayer position. His lips moved wordlessly. He seemed to be doing his best to ignore everyone, but especially the forensic scientist.

Anderson stood by the side wall adjacent to Holmes. Normally, the forensic scientist would retreat as far away from Holmes as possible. Now, he seemed to be going out of his way to insure that he was in Holmes' field of vision.

A phone call came in. An officer answered. He quickly walked to the DI and held out a mobile phone. The young officer had to speak twice to get Lestrade's attention. Lestrade pried his eyes away from Sherlock. He looked at the young officer for the first time. He took the mobile that was offered to him with mild irritation. Lestrade glanced at Sherlock then glanced at the door that exited the upper level. The DI caught John's eyes for a few seconds as concerned and puzzled stares were exchanged.

Greg Lestrade stood and frowned deeply as he spoke into the mobile. The noise level made it necessary to leave the immediate area so that he could hear the conversation on the other end of the line. He seemed to make a decision. He stood suddenly. His eyes looked at Sherlock again then he looked at John. The DI was called away. He motioned with his head toward the door. John nodded. Lestrade briskly walked just outside the door to the lower level. He was heard talking to the entering agents. The young officer followed behind. Soon after, the sound of the door closing was heard. It seemed to reverberate in the space.

Anderson watched as the Detective Inspector retreated out of the corner of his eyes. John noticed. He took another sip of coffee as he shifted his body into a more comfortable position. John continued to watch in a manner that he hoped appeared unconcerned.

Anderson suddenly walked over to Holmes. Holmes stiffened as he continued to look straight ahead at the wall of evidence. Anderson moved even closer and held the evidence bag and portfolio up to Holmes. Holmes ignored him.

That is when it happened. John eyes narrowed, and the room seemed to melt away.

Anderson turned his back to the room and moved shoulder to shoulder with Holmes. The forensic scientist said something to Holmes. Whatever was said seemed to be something that only the two men could hear. Holmes glanced at Anderson's eyes then resumed looking at the wall. It seemed as if a shutter ran through Holmes body, and his shoulders slumped for a second. Holmes took the bag and portfolio from Anderson. A second later, Sherlock shoulders took on the same confident stand that it had seconds before. Everything happened so quickly that John thought that he had imagined the entire thing.

John blinked a few times. He almost convinced himself that he imagined the whole thing when he noticed Anderson glancing at Sherlock's neck as he turned to leave. He thought he noticed a flash of a smirk. It was gone within a second. Despite being indoors, Sherlock wore his neck scarf in the flat. This was done in an attempt to divert attention away from the dark bruises, which stood out against his pale skin.

John's fingers tightened around the mug. He somehow managed to take another sip of tea without spitting it out. Anderson walked past him and actually smirked at him. He retreated into the corner of the wall opposite of where Holmes was standing.

Alarm bells were ringing in John's mind. Never-the-less, a voice inside of John, which sounded remarkably like Sherlock, reminded John not to draw conclusions without facts. The room, along with the noise in it, came back into focus. John walked over to where Anderson stood. Everyone in the room seemed unaware of the subtle drama, which was being played out between the two men.

John had two thoughts come to him at one time. He considered going to Holmes, but knew that he would not appreciate the attention in front of other people in his current state of mind. John took a sip of tea and considered his plan B.

Sherlock pulled out the photographs and added it to the ones that were already on the wall. The younger man's normally graceful movements were slightly jerky. He pulled out several documents and read through them. John moved his attention to Anderson. He slowly walked over until he stood right by Anderson who had leaned against the wall.

John did not say a word; he also leaned against the wall. Anderson stiffened slightly when John stood next to him. He almost seemed to be bracing for something. Within minutes, however, he seemed to relax. They both watched the busy activities for a short time.

"Doctor Watson," Anderson's voice was guarded.

"Doctor Anderson," Watson replied. They both normally did not address each other so formally.

There was a moment of silence.

John took a sip of tea, "That's a fresh bruise on your face. It looks like it hurts. You alright?" His voice was perfectly even and calm.

There was a small moment of silence.

"I fell." Anderson said simply.

John continued to look directly ahead. "Sherlock fell as well…," John took his last sip, "Several times."

John just waited. There were several established facts about Anderson. One of which is that he was an idiot. The additional fact was that he was as arrogant as Sherlock, without the talent or brilliance that justified that arrogance. If this were more than his imagination and a lack of sleep, Anderson would not be able to resist rubbing it in his face, so to speak.

They both ignored the activities around them.

"What happened to Holmes? He's moving as if he's hurt. I hear that he's bruised all over his body." He had a slight smirk on his face. Anderson continued to stare at Sherlock.

John said nothing. He continued to take occasional slow sips.

It was as if Robert Anderson wanted attention. He seemed to not be able to keep his mouth shut. "That's terrible. I can only imagine the... things that were done to him by those criminals." He opened then closed his mouth. A part of Anderson informed the man that he needed to shut up. Another part of Anderson was high on the sudden power he thought that he finally had over the arrogant Consultant Detective, and his slightly less annoying partner, best mate, or lover, whoever John Watson was to the freak.

Anderson attempted to look concerned. He looked John in the eyes for the first time. "Does he seem… jumpy, nervous, off his game today?"

John looked pointedly at Anderson. "Even on his worst day, he is still more intelligent than anyone in this room," John looked at Robert Anderson intently.

Anderson clinched his teeth together as he tried to hide the sour expression on his face.

"Would you like some tea?" John asked. There was a smile on John's face, but his eyes held something that Anderson chose not to identify. The thrill of danger ran through Robert's spine.

"Why not," Anderson decided.

Moments later, John handed a fresh cuppa to Anderson. John was slow to let go of the cup. He looked at Anderson's hands then let go.

Anderson frowned then took the cup, "Should I be worried that you spit in it or something?"

"Not at all," John sipped his own cup, "Why would I want to do that?" John walked away and stood close to Sherlock. Sherlock was pacing and muttering to himself. He did not notice the movement in the room, or the two men that were now watching him intently.

Watson thought silently as he watched over his friend. He had looked at Anderson's hands when he handed him the cup of tea. He had examined the fingerprint shaped bruises on Sherlock's neck while he was asleep in the hospital. John was now sure of one thing. The bruises, and Anderson's hand were the exact same size.

John glanced at Anderson. He took another sip. He thought.


	119. Chapter 119

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 119

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Note: IV is also called a saline fluid or Intravenous fluids.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

" Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps… Part I_

* * *

"_**A man who has depths in his shame meets his destiny and his delicate decisions upon paths which few ever reach . . . .**__**"**_

~ Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

She smiled as she looked at the child. It had been a challenging day for anyone, much less a child so young. She pushed a stray strand of dark curly hair away from William's face. The duvet cover was then pulled over the sleeping child. If he was anything like Sherlock was at that age, he would be covered in a layer of sweat if anything other than a thin cover was used. Sherlock's body even at a young age was like a furnace. It produced a tremendous amount of heat when he slept. She smiled at the sleeping child before turning away.

Sherlock.

She sighed as she quietly backed out of the room. Mycroft stood in the doorway watching. The outline of the elder Holmes was in the dim doorway. For a fleeting moment, it appeared as if her husband was standing there.

While Sherlock physically resembled Miranda, Mycroft physically resembled his dead father. Mycroft also had the same stoic nature as his father. That, however, is where the similarities, physical and otherwise, ended.

From a young age, Mycroft had been a leader. Her husband was always a dictator, not a leader. Mycroft would give his life to protect that which he believed in, or those he loved. Love did not come easily to a man like Mycroft. However, when love came, it was not easily given up. Mycroft would never say the word love. He hated the idea of sentiment. Instead, he would demonstrate that he cared through his actions.

Mycroft's eyes pierce back into his mother, yet, he remained quiet. They seemed to look at each other forever. It seemed as if several lifetimes had passed, as if an eternity had been walked through. In truth, it was only minutes.

She walked out of the darkened room and paused to run a hand over the cheek of her eldest son. Her eyebrows wrinkled in concern. She looked him in the eyes without saying a word. After a short time, she kissed her eldest son on the cheek before walking away. Mycroft wordlessly followed. Miranda Holmes sat on the chair opposite her son. The tea that she was drinking had been exchanged for coffee hours ago. She sipped the cup of cool coffee. She sighed then put it down.

"You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on you dear." Miranda stepped closer. "You also look tired."

Mycroft said nothing. He just looked quietly on.

"William and his mother are in danger. You would not have brought them here otherwise. You did the right thing." Miranda Holmes eyes locked with her son. "You told me many things tonight, but you have not mentioned how Sherlock is getting along."

Mycroft said what was required. It was part of his job. He would lie if necessary to anyone even Sherlock to protect. He found it difficult, however, to lie to his mother. He chose his words carefully.

He said slowly, "It's complicated."

Miranda got up and walked over to the end of the room. She poured out one-third of a glass of brandy. She returned and wordlessly put the crystal tumbler next to Mycroft. She remained standing.

"First, I need to know what we're up against. Second, I want to know everything that happened over the last two years that you've been keeping from me. Particularly what happened when we thought that he was dead. I have a feeling that this all ties together. Lastly, I want to see my son."

Mrs. Holmes held up a hand to stop any protest from Mycroft. "Make it happen, Mycroft. I understand that it cannot happen straight away, but we both know that short of walking on water, you can do near anything." Mrs. Holmes looked at her son with a raised eyebrow. Her face expressed a determined look.

The elder son thought of several responses as he calculated their probability of success. The possible responses were motivated by two facts; it was too dangerous, and his brother would murder him for putting their mother in danger. Mycroft was about to refuse when he saw the look in his Mother's eyes. She gave him _the look._ Possibility of winning any argument was zero. She was a Holmes.

He sighed.

His mother rarely made demands, but when she did, she was unmovable. Mycroft twisted his lips with dissatisfaction. He now remembered where Sherlock's stubbornness came from. He took a sip of brandy.

He sighed, again.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

A noise took the attention of everyone in the room. Everyone looked toward the door to the outside. An agent was heard talking to someone loudly. John glanced at Sherlock and noticed that he paused his pacing then resumed seconds later.

"Doctor Watson," the agent said as he quietly motioned with his hand.

"There is a delivery here. He said that he could only deliver to Mr. Holmes." John looked at Sherlock. His fears about disturbing Sherlock were not founded. He did not need to look up; he felt Sherlock standing beside him before he saw him.

Sherlock looked at the package; his face suddenly became expressionless. The nervous energy that he had been fighting for hours seemed to evaporate. Instead of being relieved, John became suddenly concerned.

"Sherlock?" John's voice was quiet enough for just the two of them to hear.

Sherlock did not answer but looked reassuringly at John. He signed to accept the small package. It was an ordinary looking package with no markings of any kind on the outside of the box.

Several eyes studied Holmes before returning to their assignments.

Grifton walked up to Holmes and Watson. "If that has anything to do with the case, I will have to confiscate it and add it to evidence."

"It's personal," Sherlock, said simply before he started to walk away.

Anderson intercepted Holmes before John could make his way to the two men. John witnessed Anderson as he whispered something in Holmes' ears. John cursed silently as he moved toward his friend. Sherlock glanced at John and walked toward his bedroom. His long legs assured the fact that he reached his room before John could intercept. Moments later, the bedroom door was heard as it closed.

John knew with the finality of the slam that Sherlock was not in the mood for company. John did not want to add to his stress, but he had to make sure that his friend was okay. John debated with himself for several minutes before knocking.

"Sherlock…" John did not want Scotland Yard, or anyone there to know what was going on with Sherlock.

"Not now, give me a few minutes, John." To anyone who might be listening, Sherlock's voice sounded annoyed, but John could see through it.

John made sure that there was no one near enough to hear, particularly Anderson, before speaking again quietly. "How are you, mate?"

The was a long moment of silence. John was about to walk away when a quiet reply came.

"I'm a little tire, John."

"I'm here." John leaned his head against the bedroom door. He closed his eyes as one palm of his hand spread wide and touched the dark wood.

"I know," the voice volume was so low that it could have been missed.

John walked back then forth. He thought of sitting on the floor outside his bedroom, but he did not want to embarrass Sherlock in any way. After a few minutes, he walked toward the kitchen, and sat on one of the chairs. He lingered there. He made sure that Anderson did not try to sneak to Sherlock's door. He tried to resist the urge to hit Anderson in front of a room full of witnesses.

After ten, minutes, Sherlock was still in his bedroom. John headed to the door.

"Sherlock." Several seconds passed.

"Sherlock." Again, there was no response.

"I'm coming in." When he turned the knob, it was locked. A small panic rose in his stomach.

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

An agent walked over to John.

The agent looked concerned. "Is everything okay?"

John had not realized that his voice volume was that loud. "The door is locked." John tried to sound casual. "He's just out the hospital. I think he fell asleep and forgot to unlock his door." John was careful to put on a fake smile.

Several more persons were seen at the end of the hallway. Another agent and Constable Grifton walked toward him.

"Everything is OK here, can we have some privacy?" John said. All the curious faces disappear back into the main room.

The agent next to him braced himself as if he would break down the door. "Oi, wait, I have a key," John said quickly.

Both roommates never locked their doors. They would simply close their doors if they wanted privacy. Both also had a key to the other roommate's door. They only installed the locks because of their dangerous lifestyle. Sherlock had insisted that it would give them a few extra minutes to call emergency services or Mycroft if anyone ever broke into their flat.

That door key was never used before now. The fact that he would have to force his way into Sherlock's room made John's stomach twist.

John briskly walked to his room and ran up the stairs as he ignored the faces that followed him. Within a few minutes, John was turning the knob to Sherlock's room. Several men were behind him at the doorway.

"Sherlock," John stopped abruptly. He looked into the room. He did not know that he inhaled deeply.

* * *

A/N: Happy New Year. I will not keep you in suspense long. Part II, up later this week.


	120. Chapter 120

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 120

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you for your recent post: Kelllie (Here is more. I hope that you are ready.), socalrose (I love Mummy Holmes as well.), bruderlein (The question of the room will be answered.), Kitiara88 (the next installment is here.), HC (You made it until the end of the week. Yea.), Bookworm Gal (John's deductive work and tea. Is there anything greater.), Catie501 (Sorry for leaving you hanging.), Prothoe (Thank you for your multiple post. Mycroft is a leader.), gemstone1234 (some questions, start to be answered.) and all guest. Benfan(Thinking of you.),

Thank you ; Sdale05, jack63kids, kassandwich ,macgyvershe, cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

" Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps…Part II_

* * *

"_**A dream has power to poison sleep**_." ~Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Mutability"

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time **_

Something interrupted his sleep. He opened one heavy eyelid then the other. His dream crumbled into the dust of his subconscious. His eyes closed.

He normally was alert quickly, but today was different. The waking world seemed to flee from him, and he did not pursue.

Again, something pulled at his subconscious mind. He blinked the sleep away, and his rubbery hand fumbled about in the dark. His long fingers closed around the cool, slick object. He pushed the key and spoke with a voice that cracked from fatigue.

"Yes," he did not recognize his own voice. There was no need to say whom he was. Few people knew this number.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Yes, I was sleeping, but it's fine John."

His back came to rest against the wooden bedpost. He wiped his face with his free hand. A frown came on his face as his body struggled to keep up with a mind that was already deducing John's voice.

He suddenly stopped moving. "Tell me everything."

He jumped out of bed and stifled a hiss as his right great toe came forcefully into contact with the bottom of the bed. He grabbed his blue stripe robe and pulled it on as he walked.

"One minute John."

Mycroft took the mobile away from his face, pushed in a code, and then hit the send key. The elder Holmes already naturally moved quietly. He did take more care as he walked past William's room.

Once he was sure that he was a safe distance away from the sleeping child, he instructed John to continue to talk. He quietly stepped out of the villa door. He glanced at the two agents that were assigned outside the villa every night. Mycroft walked a short distance in nothing more than his pajama shirt and trouser and his silk dressing gown. The cold rushed toward his skin. He shivered as he looked at the open door a short distance away.

Thomas cursed quietly as he stood by the front door. Thomas was positioned in the doorway. He was dressed in a tee-shirt and cotton pajama trousers. He quickly put his earphone in as he tested its connection. Five minutes ago, he had jogged to the front door. The alarm on his mobile had awakened him. Several agents in a similar state of dress, walked around and quickly pulled out computer tablets, laptops, and Smartphones. Thomas stayed in the villa next to Mrs. Holmes. The shaft of light from the opened door of Thomas' villa was like a beacon.

Mycroft stepped through the opened door, which closed immediately.

"Sir," Thomas said as he stepped aside. When the door to the outside closed, the world outside was once again plunged, into darkness.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

The mundane Sedan drove down the streets of London. The windows had a slight, dark tint that prevented those who wanted to look within the car from viewing the inside.

He was dressed in his designer dark-gray suit, a crisp white shirt, and a patterned necktie of light and dark gray with splashes of red. His legs were elegantly crossed as his strong fingers pressed rapidly onto the keys of his camera phone.

His passenger had been silent since he entered the vehicle.

"You, and particularly your brother, have cost me quite a bit of trouble and money lately. What do you think that I should do about that?"

There was no response. The only sound was the clicking of a keyboard that had been attached to the computer tablet.

He still did not look at his passenger. He now picked up a computer tablet and connected something to the side of the tablet, as it powered on.

The Consultant Criminal smiled. "We've got to stop meeting like this. People would start to wonder, won't they?"

"Jim." Sherlock was quiet after the initial reply.

His eyes traveled on the two rather large men. They sat opposite him and eyed him warily. Holmes had an unpleasant reputation for causing trouble. With one glance, he knew that they were prepared for trouble from him.

Data flowed to Sherlock almost instantly. He looked at their suit jacket. _One, no, two Guns ready to be used_. He heard the distinctive click of the car doors when he entered. It had a locking system that assured that if Holmes pulled on the car door handle, it would not open. _Conclusion? Buggered._

"I assume that you have something rather unpleasant planned." Sherlock now looked at Moriarty.

Moriarty ignored his question. He smiled. He said nothing for the moment, as he looked Sherlock up and down. "You're rather a mess."

Holmes looked Moriarty in the eyes. He gave him a thin, false smile before saying. "I've had a rather exciting week."

There was a bit of silence before the Consultant Criminal broke into a deep, rich laugh.

"My, you are entertaining, aren't you?" Moriarty looked at the man sitting next to him carefully. He seemed to be analyzing him as if he was a slide under a microscope. Moriarty had a strange look on his face.

Sherlock made sure that his face was blank and expressionless. He refused to look away.

Moriarty looked away now as he picked back up his Smartphone, and pushed keys as he rapidly typed a text.

Sherlock continued to study him and waited.

"They're your weakness." Moriarty said seriously. "Look at all the pain and suffering that you've been through in the last few months. For what? Them? All for them, the normal, the ordinary," Moriarty's face twisted into a snarl as he added, "The boring."

Moriarty's hands never slowed. His voice took on a mocking tone. "Especially that pet of yours. What's his name? He's ruined everything good about you."

Holmes ground his teeth together, but said nothing until he gained control of his anger. "Speaking of pets, I know where your puppet is, but where's your pet?"

Moriarty raised his eyebrows. "Did you miss Seb?"

"Not in the least."

The corners of Moriarty's lips turned up into a small smile, but he said nothing. There was another moment of silence.

"I've done what you've ask. Let her go."

Moriarty did not respond to Sherlock's statement. "Did you enjoy my little... presents?"

"Not particularly."

"Why? I didn't think that you cared." Moriarty finished the text and put the Smartphone back in his suit jacket pocket. "I sent you a picture of Sebastian standing over, our sleeping princess, and I get no thanks. I even framed the picture for you."

Sherlock said nothing else. He just looked.

"Did you not like my choice of picture frame?" Moriarty put on a facial expression as if he was offended. "A different color maybe?"

Again, Sherlock said nothing.

Moriarty was silent for a few minutes before he took out his Smartphone, text for a several seconds, then returned it to his pocket. "She'll be unharmed."

"You don't mind if I check for myself."

Moriarty nodded. "Keep this on you. I do love to hear your voice every now and then." He handed him a new picture phone. There were four different video feeds. Moriarty had apparently hidden four-spy cameras, in four different locations, in her home. One was of her entrance doorway, one her main room, or living room, one of her kitchen, and the last her bedroom. There was no sound, only pictures.

Sherlock watched Molly Hooper as she walked into her flat.

Sherlock pulled out his mobile. He made a quick call.

Molly answered on the second ring. "Molly, this is Sherlock."

"Hi," She sounded slightly out of breath. "You sound odd, is everything alright Sherlock?"

"Yes, everything is fine…" Holmes was interrupted.

"Did you get my text about the last body? You were right." The video feed showed her taking off her coat.

"Yes I got your text, thank you Molly." The video feed showed her frozen with one arm still in her coat.

"Thank you?" She repeated like a parrot, "You sure you're OK?"

Sherlock smiled despite the situation. "I'm fine, promise." His smile vanished. "Can you do something for me, without any questions?"

"Of course Sherlock," The video showed her taking her overcoat completely off now and bending down to scratch her cat's head.

"Remember what I told you to do if there was any…" Sherlock looked at Moriarty. "difficulties." He was glad that Moriarty could only see her, but not hear her.

The video feed showed Molly as she stiffened for a moment then got up. "It'll be done." The lines quickly disconnected.

Sherlock continued to watch the video feed.

Molly got up quickly and moved to her bedroom. She disappeared from view for a moment. Seconds later, she reappeared on a different video feed. Both men looked on as Molly quickly opened the door to her bedroom. It showed Molly as she went to her bedside table, opened it, and then pulled out a new looking mobile phone. There was no sound but they could see her as she punched numbers into that mobile. Sherlock watched the silent video as she put the mobile to her ear. Her lips started to move as she talked. She moved her free arm around, making animated gestures.

The video feed went black.

Sherlock tried not to let the relieve he felt show. He put a slightly bored expression on his face.

"So, how is my good friend Molly." Moriarty turned to Sherlock and whispered as if they had a secret together.

The Consultant Criminal put his hand loosely over his mouth. He pretended to be embarrassed. "I shouldn't be saying this, but, underneath all that hideously patterned, synthetic fabric, there is quite a body." Jim winked at Sherlock.

"Hurting her would be a mistake," Sherlock said simply as he looked at Moriarty.

Moriarty laughed softly then said, "I do believe that was a threat."

Sherlock looked for several seconds more. He then looked ahead. He suddenly realized where they were going. His heart sank.

Sherlock hoped that John would not be too irritated.

Both men were silent for the rest of the car ride.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Mycroft's agent-in-charge looked on as Agent Robert Towson was lifted from the ambulance and wheeled into the hospital. They walked past the _Accident and Emergency_ department and kept going. Agent Pearson pursed his lips together and glanced at the injured man. He was a good man. Several agents walked beside, and to the side of the trolley. He looked at the sea of humanity that floated in, and out, of his field of vision. Four men around him walked carefully. Their eyes also scanned the people who were in the immediate area. Several medical workers walked beside the trolley, as well.

Everyone turned the corner, and changed direction as they headed for a more private location. The medical staff was at a loss, as far as what needed to be done for the injured agent.

The sound of hands colliding with double doors was loud in the ears of those present. The agents stepped back to the perimeter of the room to allow the medical workers room to move. The medical workers lifted Agent Towson as quickly, yet carefully as possible. After the agent was transferred, a flurry of activities took place. His clothes were entirely cut away. Machine tube and medical devices were moved around the room.

A physician looked at the report and puckered his eyebrows. A gasp brought his attention to a nurse. The medical worker stood frozen. She had the last piece of his removed clothing in her hand. He glanced frowning at the generally professional woman. His attention turned back to the room. The doctor looked at the patient and swallowed. He now looked at the reports. Someone had made a point of redressing the injured agent in the warehouse. Only a small part of his chest was exposed when they brought him into the A/E earlier. Now, however, the full extent of what was done to him was revealed.

The agent in charge now looked at his colleague and frowned. He walked closer.

"Put oxygen on him. Apart from that, touch nothing. Call Doctor Cutler," The physician in the room said grimly.

"But he is sleeping," the medical worker reminded the doctor.

"Then, wake him up." The doctor hissed.

Agent Pearson exited the room quickly. He walked briskly as he pulled out his mobile.


	121. Chapter 121

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 121

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

" Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps…Part II_

* * *

"_**Fear is the fuel; blood is the spark; kindle the rage and bring forth the dark." **_~Black Rose

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sherlock looked out of the car window and frowned.** "**This is a lot of risk that you took just to drop me in front of a hospital. I could have taken a cab and met you here." Although he worked out where Moriarty was taking him, the location he chose was still a surprise.

Moriarty looked at the man he considered his intellectual equal. "Have you worked out what I plan to do yet?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes with a bored expression. "Of course."

Moriarty smiled, "Have you worked out how?"

Sherlock was silent now.

"I'm surprised at you? You're usually step-to-step with me." Moriarty raised his eyebrows. "I gave you a clue."

"Are you out of sorts today?" Moriarty's hand raised, and slowly unwrapped the scarf from Sherlock's neck. Sherlock had to stop himself from reflectively slapping the Consultant Criminal's hand away. He glanced at the men across from him. They were apprehensive. One had his gun out and pointed at Sherlock's leg. Moriarty stopped and looked at the angry marks shaped like fingerprints. He raised his eyebrows.

"Sebastian certainly gets creative ideas when it comes to you. I think you bring out the best in him."

Moriarty then unbuttoned his coat and removed it as he handed it to the man without the gun. Sherlock stiffened. Sherlock calculated the chances of overcoming the men while they was distracted folding his overcoat. His thoughts were interrupted.

"Molly Hooper…, if that isn't enough, John Watson…, if that isn't enough…" Jim did not finish his sentence. He did not need to.

"I expect that coat to be care for, and folded properly." Holmes said with all the bravado that he could muster.

Next, Moriarty unbuttoned Sherlock's jacket, yet he did not take it off. When that was done, He started to unbuttoned the sleeve cuff. He looked at the handcuff marks then pressed them non-too gently. Sherlock thinned his lips. He made a point not to gasp. He, however, could not stop the grimace on his face. Moriarty now started to unbutton Sherlock's shirt buttons while never losing eye contact.

Sherlock said as casually as possible. "I'd like you to stop now."

"Prepare to be disappointed then." Moriarty fingers unbuttoned the last button, and then pushed open Sherlock's shirt. He let out a whistle.

"My, someone was enthusiastic," Moriarty's, thick, rich accent filled the cab of the car. Moriarty's hand pressed down Sherlock's torso. He watched Holmes face closely as Sherlock made an effort not to cry out. When the Consultant Criminal's hand came to a particularly nasty looking bruise, his hand pressed and twisted into the side of Sherlock's ribs.

Sherlock bit his lips but eventually growled out in both anger and pain. His hands dug into the side of the car seat. Moriarty looked at him curiously. He seemed satisfied with Sherlock first display of physical pain. He let go as suddenly as he started.

Moriarty buttoned the younger Holmes shirt as if he was a life-sized toy. Sherlock's eyes were closed. His breathing was harsh and heavy as he tried to get his pain under control. Moriarty surfed the internet as he waited with unusual patience. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at Moriarty. Moriarty allowed himself to smile. Most people would be groveling at his feet, crying, or begging not to be hurt, but not Holmes. He would never admit it out loud, but he liked Holmes spirit.

Moriarty locked eyes with Holmes. "This is the second sign. You have two left." Moriarty smiled as he looked at the battered man, "If you live, of course. I won't save you if you choose to walk into that door. Let's be honest with ourselves, you're not top of your game today."

"Of course… There is another option." Moriarty's smile widened. "You could stop all your…difficulties. Come away with me now of your own freewill. You'll be my equal in every way. As long as you do what I say without question, of course."

Sherlock frowned as he looked at the building. "If I do this will they be safe?"

"Of course not, don't be slow." Moriarty rolled his eyes. "What was all my hard work for? Am I not attempting to tell you, teach you, show you, who you really are. There's nothing out there for you. Their lives mean nothing."

Moriarty paused for a moment. "You must be tired of people who do not understand your needs. Having to dummy it down for everyone around you. Being bored all the time."

Moriarty looked at Sherlock. They locked eyes. "Come with me and I promise," He whispered in Sherlock's ears, "You'll never be bored again." He gazed at Sherlock, "I do mean..., never... bored."

Sherlock thought for a moment. Several years ago, Moriarty's offer would have seemed attractive. All his life, he had fought the boredom that came with a genius level IQ and a unique, deductive mind. He knew that Moriarty would keep his word. Even Moriarty's insanity could be worked out. He would never be bored again. Several things stopped him, but one more than anything else.

John.

He would rather be bored in their flat with John than running around the world, mentally stimulated without him.

Interesting.

Sherlock looked at Moriarty without saying a word. Moriarty's face took on a stone-like appearance. He knew immediately what Holmes decision was. Words were not necessary.

Sherlock reached for his scarf and coat as he prepared to exit the motorcar.

"No, I think that I like you with your bruises on display for the entire world to see. And, I'll keep your coat, for now."

Moriarty had already dismissed him. "Off you pop, your pets are waiting. My rules for this game were sent to your mobile."

Sherlock did not hesitate any longer. He grimaced as he twisted his limbs and exited the car. He strolled confidently into the building. Varied people entered and exited. They were unaware that their life stood in the balance.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

**__****Current Time**  


He disconnected the borrowed mobile. He felt a chill despite the fact that he had on his beige colored thick jumper.

The room was cold. The opened window had cooled off the moderately sized space. He walked over and closed it now that they had dusted for prints. Anderson left the flat during the chaos. He claimed that he was suddenly ill. Stevenson took his place and was now in charge of the forensics. John was glad. He was on his way to ask Anderson in the most ungentlemanly way, what he had said to Sherlock.

John looked as Stevenson packed up the evidence bags. She, along with several officers, left the room. He exhaled in frustration. He doubted that they would find fingerprints for anyone but Holmes.

He walked back and forth as the Yarders, and agents came in, and out of the room. Mycroft would have his agent to review the CCTV footages, but everyone knew that if Sherlock did not want to be found, he would not be found.

John called Sherlock's mobile for the fourth time. There was no answer. His thumb slammed the _end call_ key a little more forcefully than he meant to. He reminded himself not to abuse the phone. He sighed, feeling only slightly guilty for 'borrowing' it from one of the agents.

He looked around Sherlock's bedroom. There were no signs of a struggle. Nothing seemed out of place.

John Watson was not a violent man; however, at that moment, he wanted to hit something. He closed his eyes. He thinned his lips into a straight line as he took several deep breaths. He tried to calm himself.

_You see, but you don't observe_. Watson heard the voice of his friend say. John looked around again. He still found it hard to understand how Sherlock could generate so much clutter around the flat, yet, his bedroom was so neat and organized.

He looked at his bed. It was neatly made as usual. The dresser, tables, and all surfaces in his room were free of clutter with the exception of several science, and abnormal pathology books. His _periodic table of elements_ was framed on the wall as usual.

John inhaled as his eyes fell again on the books. There was a smaller, novel sized book on top of the others.

"That's odd, that." John whispered to himself.

John frowned and walked over as casually as possible and picked up the book. It was one of his crime novels. Sherlock disliked fantasy novels. He would never have a loan of it to read. He frowned and opened it. His strong fingers pushed through the pages. He came to one page that was folded in half. He looked at the edge of the page, some numbers were written on it, along with the words, _Your phone_. It was written in Sherlock's handwriting.

John walked briskly from the room. He ignored the stares of the persons there. He rushed up the stairs to his bedroom. He took two stairs at a time. He forcefully pushed open the door and ignored the loud thud as the door hit the wall. John ran over to his mobile. He hesitated for a moment then text the numbers. The send button was pressed.

He held his breath as he waited.

After several seconds, a series of numbers and two letters appeared on his mobile. The screen showed the following, 51 32N 0 5W.

The screen now changed to a map with a moving white light. Watson recognized the numbered sequence patterns as Latitude and Longitude maps with coordinates.

Sherlock was leading them to him.

"You devil, I should have known," John whispered to himself. He picked up his mobile.

He tapped his feet as he waited.

The words tumbled out. "Mycroft, Sherlock left a map with coordinates. I don't know what's going on, but he didn't just runoff again. I don't know how or why, but he left against his will."

John paused again briefly. "I think another game has started."

* * *

**A/N: **Here is the second part. Part three up as soon as possible.

Talk to me. I appreciate your comments.

Love to all.


	122. Chapter 122

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 122

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you for your recent post: Catie501 (More evil Moriarty.), Bookworm Gal (creepy and menacing Jim ahead), Prothoe (Thank you for your multiple post. More frighten scenes), gemstone1234 (I hope that your questions are answered), bruderlein (The new game.), Kitiara88 (More suspense and hopefully, thrills.), hJohn302 ((Thank you for your multiple post. Thanks for pointing out the phone). And to all guest and PMs thanks.

Thank you ; Kelllie, Sdale05, jack63kids, kassandwich ,macgyvershe, cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.

**Warning*******.*** **T rated**, However, there is some violence ****. ****

I have written several chapters. There is a bit of a chiffy on the last chapter. The next few postings run into each other, so the chiffys are not intentional.

Read all at once...or ...read one a day and you will only have a day before the next posting. The choice is yours. Make yourself happy.

" Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps… Part III_

* * *

**_"_****_In darkness of the night - I spied him in a tree - Sat I froze by the sight - He was looking at me."_**

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

The open space vibrated with energy. A sea of humanity blurred unnoticed. His full concentration was already lost in his mind as he calculated the best course of action to take, so that the largest number of people would survive. He purposely ignored the faces so that his total concentration would be based on logic.

Several pairs of eyes followed him as he walked in. He ignored them all. A rare sensation worked its way through him as he moved slowly but steadily. Apprehension. He was not sure which direction to take. If he were honest, he would admit at least to himself that he did not even have any direction.

While Moriarty had _distracted _him, a mobile from Moriarty's men had replaced his mobile. He thought about calling John and Mycroft, but he did not dare until he knew the rules of this new game. He had no doubt that Moriarty had bugged the mobile that he had given him. If he made a phone call to anyone without Moriarty's permission, and he found out about it, there would be an unpleasant consequence.

He glanced at the crowd of people that were there.

"Lovely," Holmes whispered to himself.

Holmes noticed movement out of the corner of his vision. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He needed to move quickly and invisibly. A quick glance of the general area of the room gave valuable information. His eyes continued to give a subtle glance about, before they came to rest briefly in the direction of the security camera in the top, corner, of the room.

Data flowed into, and out of, his mind.

_Professional grade CCTV... _

_Surveillance camera... _

_H264 High Resolution 4ch DVR utilizing High Resolution VGA**.**_

He would be surprised if the Criminal Mastermind had not found a way to tap into the surveillance camera security system. Moriarty was most likely having a laugh as he sat, and watched, while he drank tea, and tortured a few innocents.

Moriarty had made it more difficult for him to move about unnoticed, when he took his scarf and coat. That had, no doubt, been his intention.

He attempted to move as quickly as his sore body would allow, but the realization, that he would not make it past several concerned eyes, was clear. Several medical workers came toward him.

An unfamiliar voice to his right spoke first. "Sir, are you okay?"

A different voice spoke, "Sir, you really need to sit down." A wheelchair appeared next to him. "Now."

Holmes looked longingly at the door that led beyond the outer room. Sneaking past the door was normally not a problem. Today, it would be. He had mastered the art of hiding in plain sight, blending into his surroundings, and if all else fail, bulling his way into where he wants to go. It would not do any good currently. He was drawing too much attention to himself. He could only imagine what he looked like. Between Anderson, the car accident, a fight with his would be kidnappers, and Moriarty, he probably looked like death warmed over.

Holmes thought for a few seconds. There was a sudden realization that his left side felt unusually warm, and sticky. His hand moved down toward the wetness before coming in front of his face. It came back red. Moriarty had brutally twisted his fingers into his side, while in the motorcar. It was meant to be a punishment for defying him. Sherlock now realized that as Moriarty had twisted his hand into the laceration on his bruised ribs, he had pulled at two of the three stitches and broken them. His shirt and a small area of his dress jacket were stained with blood; the day old wound was bleeding again.

He allowed himself a frown when he realized that he was surrounded. Did they not have anything better to do, Holmes wondered.

"I'm fine," he said between gritted teeth as he staggered to the side.

Traitorous transport.

One hand caught him. Another firmly guided him to a wheelchair that had materialized.

Sherlock righted himself as he pushed the offending hands away. "I am fine," he repeated with what he hoped was a glare. It looked more like a grimace. The medical workers ignored him. Did they not realize that he did not have time for this? Lives were at stake. There was a puzzle to be solved.

"Sir, you're in shock." A voice drifted from his right.

His frown deepened as he was manhandled. He opened his mouth as several scathing remarks came to his mind. It was closed when he noticed the determined look on the medical workers' faces. He closed his mouth and his frown deepened.

His eyes traveled and deduced the faces of the three people who were determined to care for him. Blue-gray eyes rested on a young nurse.

_Twenty-three, no twenty-four years old - eight months as a nurse – newly engaged, no engagement ring yet – cares more about her patients than hospital policies - compassionate._

Holmes eyes locked onto her eyes. He took her offered hand. She squeezed his hand without losing eye contact. He squeezed back. The young nurse smiled down reassuringly at the handsome man. Beyond all his bravado, she saw fear. Her boyfriend, not boyfriend anymore she reminded herself, but fiancé was the same way.

Voices merged together, some were offering words of comfort, and others were giving him direction.

The man's body stiffened. The young nurse tried not to frown as she watched the young man open his eyes wide, and then close them, as sudden pain shot through his body.

"Oh God," Holmes whimpered quietly. "The room is spinning." He added. Soft gasps and moans left his lips.

He was quickly wheeled past the doors toward the inside of the hospital.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

John and the agent slowly and quietly moved into the building. The signal to Sherlock was getting stronger. He was somewhere in that building. They would have to search. John stopped the agent silently. His eyes squinted. He slowly walked up to the object that was hung on a hook. John felt his muscles elongate as he reached up. He would recognize the object anywhere. It was Sherlock's light, black Belstaff wool coat.

John's fingers tightened around the overcoat.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

The nurse walked back down the busy hallway toward the room with the man in it. It was unusually crowded today. Several accidents, muggings, even two gas leaks. She could not ever remember a busier day in the near nine months of her employment.

She felt the cool, slick object in her pocket. She smiled what she hoped was an innocent smile as a coworker passed by. She seriously should not have even considered doing, what she had made up her mind to do, but the man had seemed so broken, so distressed, how could she have refused him.

Her mobile was in her pocket, hidden. It was not supposed to be used on the medical, or surgical floors, but he had seemed so desperate to speak to his brother. She felt sympathy as she stretched out her hand to push the door open.

The patient, Holmes had his eyes closed. He opened them immediately. The young nurse stood for a second or two and looked at the man. His eyes seemed to be almost looking into her. She resisted the urge to both frown and squirm.

"You were able to get your mobile for me." The patient said casually.

Her eyebrows rose. "How did you know that I would do it?" The man never answered, he just continued to study her. His eyes followed her as she moved with the mobile in hand, and handed it to him.

He grimaced when his hands reached for the mobile and took it from her. "Thank you Abbey," He said. The words seemed to be almost an afterthought. His voice held traces of pain. She could not remember telling him her name. She normally wore a name-tag with her picture and name, but the clasp on the back must have broken sometime earlier. She could not find it.

She looked at him intently. "Are you sure that you won't have anything for pain?"

"I need my mind clear," he said in a matter of fact way.

"Have to save the world?" She smiled at the joke.

"Not all of it." Holmes said seriously. The man was quiet for a few minutes thinking. After a brief hesitation, he pushed the number keys and waited for the call to connect.

"Mycroft it's me," He frowned as he took the mobile from his ear for a second and stared at the phone. He put it back to his ear and was about to speak, but stopped. He looked at her as if he suddenly remembered that she was still in the room. "Do you mind?"

"Well… I actually should…" a moan from the man as he swayed slightly and closed his eyes cut off her gentle protest.

She looked at the monitors and IV. His vital signs were slightly abnormal, particularly his heart rate, but nothing immediately life threatening. "Well," She started again, "I'll pop out for a minute and check on my other patients."

"Don't try to get up on your own. Use your call button if you have to use the loo, and if your heart rate continues to rise, you might have to reconsider something for pain." She gave him her best imitation of a stern look. The one her mum used on her often.

"Of course," Holmes said with his best angelic look.

"Well then," The young nurse said as she looked him over one last time before walking out the door.


	123. Chapter 123

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 123

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Warning*******.*** **T rated**, However, there is some violence ****. ****

" Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps…Part III_

* * *

_**"There's the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it."**_

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Earlier_**

The Criminal Consultant looked at the man tied in the chair. Sebastian and a few men stood close by. Moriarty looked curiously at the blond-haired man. "I don't understand what he sees in you people." Moriarty looked at Sebastian and gave the slightest nod.

Sebastian smiled as he walked closer to the bloodied man in the chair. He looked him in the eyes and looked curiously for a few seconds before he very slowly pushed a sharp small knife into his thigh. He was careful to avoid the artery. He left the knife sticking in the leg.

A scream was heard before the man in the chair bit his lips to keep himself from crying out again.

"Do you see what I mean, Predictable." Moriarty looked at Sebastian again. Suddenly, Moran's hand struck the man in the chair on the side of his face. Each blow increased in violence.

Moriarty looked at the second man who was tied to the chair close to the first. "Are you ready to be cooperative or is it your turn… pet."

John Watson said nothing as he looked straight ahead. He was concerned for the blond-haired agent who was only yards away from him, but he knew expressing that concern would only motivate Moriarty to increase the agent's torture. He had been at war and understood how the mind of those who were drunk with power worked.

Moriarty gave a bored nod. Sebastian smiled broadly as he took out another knife and violently stabbed it into the agent's other leg. The agent could not hold back a scream any longer. John kept a blank face, but he did risk a quick glance to the side. He noticed with relief that Sebastian did not strike the knife close to any major blood vessels. He knew that Sherlock would draw conclusions about why they were doing what they were doing. But, he was not Sherlock. John could not make deductions, it was all he could do to concentrate, keep a blank face, and look for any opportunities of escape. He heard the agent moaning. He wished that he would pass out for his own sake.

John felt the first strike. John ground his teeth together and fought for air in between strikes. He ignored Sebastian's smile as he focused on a point on the far wall. Pain radiated from his abdomen outward. John grunted, but did not make any other sound. He was determined not to scream for as long as possible. He did not want to give Moriarty, or Sebastian the satisfaction.

"Enough," Moriarty said bored as he searched the internet. He did not bother to look at the two men.

John was struck again, on the face this time. Sebastian had a ring on, and this caused a small cut to open up on the side of John's face. John felt a warm, sticky trail slowly run down his face.

"Yes Mr. Moriarty," Sebastian said. He winked at John before retreating.

John could feel the taste of copper in his mouth. He spit it out onto the dirty concrete floor. He sat back in the chair. He felt the pull on his shoulders from the odd angle that his hands were tied behind his back to the chair. John glanced at the agent. The agent's head hung down. He was breathing but had finally become unconscious.

Moriarty rose from his chair for the first time since they were dragged into the room. He walked up to Watson and circled his chair. John stiffened his body as he prepared for anything. The lunatic was as likely to kiss him, and dance around his chair as he was to slit his throat.

"Are you feeling more cooperative now? I need for you to call him. Tell him what I've done to your agent." Moriarty moved his lips and pressed them to John's ear as he whispered so that only John can hear, "Tell him what I can do to you. I need him to fail this game. He's close to breaking. He tries to hide it, but I can see it in his eyes. I'm sharing this with you, pet. It's our little secret. You'll never tell him. The sooner he comes to me, the better it will be for him. He's forcing me to hurt him. Even you can see that, can't you?"

Moriarty's lips left his ear. He brought his eyes directly in front of John's eyes. They were so close that John could feel Moriarty's breath on his face as he spoke. He could smell the tea and peppermint on his breath. "You're being uncooperative. You're forcing my hand. If there is another game, it will be…" Moriarty face changed from amusement to one of deadly seriousness. "… most unpleasant."

Moriarty put one finger under John's chin and raised it. "Make… the… call."

John remained quiet.

"Say something, pet," Moriarty said slightly irritated.

John face became blank. "I will never assist you to hurt Sherlock. Go… To… Hell." His voice was like steel.

"I'm sure I will." Moriarty smirked as he withdrew from John's face and personal space.

Moriarty raised an eyebrow at Sebastian and backed away as he walked toward the door. Sebastian smiled and took up another small knife as he made his way back to Watson.

John's voice stopped Moriarty. "I just thought that I would point out that I did say something as you requested. Technically, I was cooperative."

Moriarty stopped his steps and turned to look at John. John had a false tight smile on his face. Moriarty suddenly burst into a full rich laugh. "Point acknowledged dear doctor." He looked intently at John Watson. "You're still unimportant and unintelligent, but you're not quite as boring or irritatingly dull as I once thought."

He looked at Sebastian. "Prepare them. You've had enough fun." Sebastian frowned openly and put the knife back down. Jim Moriarty now looked at Watson, "At least for now." Moriarty turned and walked out of the room without another word.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Twenty-eight Minutes Later  
_**

"I'm back…" The nurse's conversation was cut short. She looked around confused. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

"Sir?" She looked around as if the mere act could cause the missing man to materialize. It did not.

She looked in the loo, he was not there.

She slowly walked over to the trolley and picked up used wound supplies. It had been laid on top of his discarded suit jacket. She looked at the IV that was disconnected and still on the floor. A drop of blood was still on the end of the catheter needle. The alarm on the monitors had been expertly silenced.

"Where did he go?" She wondered aloud.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

The young medical worker walked into the hospital and walked up to his locker. He stifled a yawn as he stretched his long limbs. He attempted to blink away the fatigue. He was already late; he could no longer delay. He had stayed out late at the pub the night before. He was paying for it now. He allowed the next yawn to occur unhindered.

He pulled the locker door opened as his blurry eyes focused. He frowned as he looked around. His uniform was missing. He looked at his work shoes. It was the only part of his uniform that was still there. He frowned as he looked around the empty room as if it held the answer to all his questions. He looked back to his locker again. He stuck his head a little further into it. Now that he thought about it, his stethoscope was missing too.

And, where was his favorite red scarf?


	124. Chapter 124

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 124

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Warning*******.*** **T rated**, However, there is some violence ****. ****

" Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps…Part III_

**Note**: Nick means, to steal. (The word _nicked_ is used in this chapter.)

* * *

**_"At night the fog was thick and full of light, and sometimes voices_**." ~ Erin Bow

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Thomas inserted his hands into his suit trouser pockets. He had managed to change into a suit sometime during the long night. The last thirty hours had been tiring for everyone. Closed eyes tightened briefly as frustration and fatigue was breathed away.

Several hurried footsteps rhythmically, and rapidly tapped against the cool, oak, floor, as they entered the room. He did not bother to look up.

Agent Thomas heard the doors behind him swing open. He gripped the cup of coffee. Both of his hands wrapped around the warm mug. Eventually, one hand left the mug and came to rest on one of the reports. The files, folders and pictures lay everywhere on the moderately sized round table in front of him. It was an organized clutter.

Several surfaces in the room were similarly covered, with agents hovering close by.

Minutes later, there was another set of feet that entered the room. The door to the villa swung open, then close, too quickly. He looked up briefly and could tell by the sound of the shoes as it rapidly struck against the floor that someone had urgent news. Agent Blake Thomas looked up at the woman who had arrived in the early hours of the morning. He considered the woman who had apparently accomplished the impossible. In the room stood the woman that somehow touched the untouchable, Sherlock Holmes. Only Doctor Watson had ever been able to reach the heart of Holmes. His thoughts were interrupted by someone near his right shoulder. It was a lower level staffer who had urgent news.

"Sir, here are the reports that you requested." The lower level agent stood close by, awaiting orders quietly.

"Have you been able to reach Doctor Watson or the agent that was with him?" Thomas read the report. He frowned.

"Sorry Sir," The agent said.

Thomas noticed movement to his left.

Mycroft, Anthea, and Irene Adler walked up to him. Thomas resisted the urge to frown deeper

"Yes Sir?" He said as he sat the coffee down and turned around.

"Thomas, Miss Adler has some information that might be useful." Thomas looked at Adler. Her face looked perfectly calm; however, he noticed that her breathing was elevated. He acknowledged her by turning and giving her his full attention.

"My sources tell me that Jim has learned a new trick. He is no longer just consulting with criminals. He had staged a sort of revolution. He is trying to merge several major and minor criminal organizations into one, new enterprise. Moriarty would be the head of that new enterprise, of course. If any criminal organization refused to join the merger, the head of that organization would vanish, or be mysteriously killed. The latest organization that he has acquired specializes in experimental forms of weaponry. I think that I can help, but first I need to know everything that is currently happening to Mr. Sherlock Holmes." She locked eyes with him and waited.

Thomas looked at Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft gave a subtle nodded of permission. Thomas started to speak.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

The nicked name tag had an electronic strip on it that, when scanned, opened the door that were locked between medical units. His hand swiftly, and confidently, pulled the ID through the scanner. The door opened. This allowed him to walk directly through the units relatively unnoticed. A few faces looked at him as they searched their memory. He moved quickly on before they had time to give him much notice. They were always soon distracted. It was a busy day. That fact was to his advantage.

Sherlock moved unnoticed dressed in a uniform. A stethoscope hung loosely around his neck. He avoided the few stares that he received. The scarf hid the bruises on his neck. He, however, could not hide the bruise on the side of his face.

He passed a corridor and entered yet another unit on a different floor. His eyes scanned around taking in everything. He searched for anything out of place. For anything that would cause a warning inside of him.

He looked around as he came to an isolated corridor. He picked back up the borrowed mobile and continued to speak to Mycroft. He tried to avoid any security cameras.

Sherlock casually glanced around again. "Moriarty has something going on at this hospital that I am in."

_"Sherlock, not only is Lestrade somewhere in the hospital now, but the agent that Moriarty tortured is there as well." Mycroft voice floated from the mobile._

Sherlock steps slowed for a moment. "That cannot be a coincidence Mycroft."

_"Agreed." Mycroft immediately conceded._

Sherlock thought for a moment. "I don't want John in here. Moriarty is still much too focused on him for me to be comfortable. I'll need him on the outside to do a few things for me. I also need for you to somehow reroute all emergency calls so that the ambulances goes to other locations."

Mycroft did not respond immediately. Sherlock knew that was never a good sign. He frowned at Mycroft's hesitation.

_"Sherlock, John found your message. He is using his mobile to track your signal to your mobile phone." There was the sound of talking in the background. "He should have arrived at where you are by now."_

Sherlock completely stopped walking.

"I see." There was a hint of a tremble in Sherlock's voice before he gained control of himself. "Mycroft, Moriarty took both my mobile and my coat. Any signal that John is to follow will not lead him to me."

_"Sherlock." There was no answer. "Sherlock Holmes." Mycroft rarely raised his voice. That shook Sherlock out of his mind._

"Mycroft." Sherlock said with a strangely calm voice.

_Mycroft's voice was firm. "Calm yourself."_

"Am I not calm?" Sherlock pulled out Moriarty's mobile, as he glanced at a security camera on the ceiling. He opened the door to an empty room and entered for privacy. Despite the borrowed male uniform and the nicked red scarf, he noticed a few stares and thought that it was time to retreat.

_"No. At this moment, dear brother, you are the very opposite of calm. Get your emotions under control. You need logic and nothing else. Concentrate. Moriarty thinks that your pain is amusing. He wants to punish you, but he still wants you to engage in the game. If he kills John now, he loses any chance to get you to go away with him willingly. To willingly play his games. He will not kill John, at least not yet."_

Sherlock managed to iron out the tremble still in his voice before he spoke again. "What about a little torture?"

_Mycroft did not answer his question. "How are you physically?"_

"Peachy," Sherlock said with returned sarcasm.

Mycroft was relieved. Sherlock's sarcasm meant that he was still fighting.

_"On that happy note, I'll inform Lestrade and my agent that you are in the hospital." There was a moment of silence before Mycroft spoke again. "I'll do as you've asked. The hospital officials should be cooperative once I make a phone call. Where are you?"_

"Second floor, employee lounge." Sherlock stop speaking. The mobile that Moriarty gave him, rang.

He looked at his pocket and pulled out Moriarty's mobile. He hit the connect button with more force than was necessary.

"Jim."


	125. Chapter 125

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 125

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Warning*******.*** **T rated**, However, there is some violence ****. ****

" Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps…Part III_

* * *

"**_Sometimes it's the smallest decisions that can change your life forever._****_"_**

~ Keri Russell quotes

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Moriarty's thick Irish lilt came across the mobile. "Hello love."

His voice sounded as if he was speaking to his best friend. "Did you like my surprise? It was quite amusing to see you wheeled away. Step outside the room. I want to see your handsome face."

Sherlock stepped out the room. He walked to the end of the corridor and looked up at the security camera. He forced himself to smile.

"Jim." He ignored the stares of two medical workers who walked by.

"Let's get on with it then." A smile could be heard in Moriarty's voice. "In darkness of the night - I spied him in a tree - Sat I froze by the sight - He was looking at me."

"Udiah, witness to Yah. In a poetic mood are we." Sherlock noticed Lestrade as he exited the lift and walked toward him. Agent Pearson walked briskly; two agents were close beside him. Lestrade raised an eyebrow and looked at Sherlock oddly when he noticed that he was wearing a uniform. Sherlock exhaled a breath as confidence flooded back into him.

"I take it no one believed your story when you said that they were in danger. Did you tell them that they're all about to die. Painfully and slowly. Judging by the vacant, yet normal expressions on the faces of the common masses in that place, I would guess the answer to be, no. Have you worked out where the danger is coming from yet? I know you know what I am going to do, but, do you know how?"

Sherlock was silent for a few minutes before answering. "Rules."

Moriarty chuckled. "Death."

"It is the one constant in the universe Holmes. Everyone, and thing in that place will die, I'm simply helping nature along. You have one hour and fifteen minutes to figure out how, and stop it. I've told you everything that you need to know, but were… you… listening," Jim sang.

"Can I evacuate?" Sherlock sent a text to Mycroft from the nurse's borrowed mobile as he waited for an answer for Moriarty.

There was a brief silence. "And why would I agree to that?" He knew that Moriarty was being dramatic. "What will you do for me?"

Sherlock knew what Moriarty wanted to hear. He still hesitated. "I would consider it a… personal… favor."

He already knew that Moriarty was smiling. "You have seventeen minutes beginning now."

Sherlock typed a text to Lestrade. His eyes widened as he ran off. Two of Mycroft agents joined him.

Moriarty's voice suddenly became serious. "Here is a warning Sherlock. If anyone leaves after that time. I will be less than pleased."

Sherlock made sure that his voice sounded casual. "I'd like to have John back, unharmed."

The playfulness in Moriarty's voice returned. "I'm sure you would. Miss your pet?"

Sherlock did not answer. He gritted his teeth together in anger. He knew Moriarty well enough to know that mentioning John again, would be a sure way to get him seriously hurt, or worse.

"Our pets are playing together." There were clicking sounds on Moriarty's mobile line. "Seb won't kill him, it's not time for that… not yet anyway."

There was a pause before he spoke again. "You should have left them to die. They're nothing." Several medical workers quickly pushed patients in wheelchairs down the corridor. "Look at the blank, and vacant stares in their eyes. Sheep to the slaughter. I'll be watching. Do try to stay alive. I'd be disappointed if you manage to get yourself killed." The mobile disconnected.

Sherlock looked ahead but did not noticed anything. Masses of people moved quickly around him. The hospital was humming with noise. There was a steady trail of people who were heading for the stairwells. Beds and wheelchairs were being pushed into the lift; while medical workers were both giving directions, and assisting the patients who could walk.

Sherlock stood still, as bodies moved in front, and behind him. He closed his eyes as the agent stood quietly beside him. Holmes hands moved in subtle synchronized movements.

His eyes suddenly opened wide. "The injured agent. Agent Robert Towson, take me to him now."

The agent did not question Holmes. He turned and ran slowly, while trying to avoid the mass exodus of people. Holmes hand came to his side to support it as he ran slightly behind the agent.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

The rhythmic flashing lights of emergency vehicles broke the predawn darkness.

The quiet contrasted dramatically with the sounds of shouting, crying, and the general hum of many voices trying to talk at one time. There was a clear police line that had been drawn.

There was confusion. No one truly seemed to know what was going on. Everyone just had a general idea of danger and the urgent need to evacuate the building. Speculation was wildly flying around the area. Someone said the word bomb, someone else said the word, gas leak, someone else said the word gunmen. But, no one could confirm or deny anything said. The news media were on their way. Only one reporter was there. The reporter seemed to almost have arrived before any one knew that there was a problem. The wailing of emergency vehicles as they approached filled the air, and pierced the stillness of the night.

Miss Kitty Riley stood outside the hospital. She was the first to arrive. The tip from her lover had her there in time to see the mass exodus of people and employees. She did not consider Robert Anderson her lover, just someone to use on her way to the top. One day, she would be famous.

"Are you getting this," She asked her photographer abruptly.

The photographer rolled his eyes irritably. She was bossy most days, but lately she had been a terror. "No, I was just having a bit of tea and biscuits while I watch the telly."

"Shut up and give me a good picture. Let's find someone to interview." Riley said as she moved toward a man limping away from the hospital.

"You're in a right snit tonight," the photographer said. He did not stop or slow his movements. Short bursts of light, flashed as his camera captured the dramatic scene.

"What the bloody hell has happened here?" The photographer whispered as he worked. He noticed a female police officer as she exited a police car. She started to give orders. She seemed to be in charge. He took a picture of her. He wondered why she guarded her side as she moved. He thought to himself. He would have considered her beautiful if it was not for the intimidating look in her eyes.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Agent Robert Towson lay on the hospital bed with two agents surrounding him. He was too critical to be moved. Every attempt to disconnect the strange colored IV liquid that he was found connected to had resulted in his heart almost stopping. That limited his medical treatments. No surgery could be preformed while he was still attached to it. There was another problem; the IV bag was half-empty. Time, for the agent, was running out.

A frustrated Doctor Cutler was busy trying to think of what to do. He was a proud man and was irritated because he seemed to be unable to think of a logical way to proceed without killing the agent.

Sherlock wordlessly leaned his head against the wall by the door. His hands were folded in front of him. Agent Pearson stood with two other agents on the edge of the room as they watched the frustrated workers move about. Several floors had similar problems. The patients were too ill to be moved in the time frame that Moriarty had given them. The second problem was that medical workers were needed to keep them alive. Most of the staff had evacuated, but several dozen medical workers, five officers and five agents, along with dozens of nurses and doctors had volunteered to stay with the patients.

Sherlock ignored everyone as his mind worked out what this new _game_ was about. He felt, rather than saw, Lestrade approaching behind him.

Sherlock did not take his eyes off the injured agent. "I told you to leave Lestrade; it will be too late soon."

"My place is here. Besides, you might need help." Lestrade's voice left no room for argument.

Sherlock looked at Lestrade, searching him; he sighed and nodded woodenly.

An officer came rushing into the room. "Sir, there is a small group that is trying to leave. They're too many of them. They're not all going to make it out before the time is up."

Lestrade cursed as he ran out the room. An agent and Sherlock followed close behind.

* * *

**_Current Day, _**

**_Current Time_**

There was a crowd that had started to gather behind the police barricade. News camera crews, including BBC were also there. Some in the crowd were concerned, others were looking for excitement. They cheered as more people walked out of the hospital.

The small crowd that stood just inside the entrance to the hospital did not notice. The two arguing men distracted them.

"… Why can't I leave? Look at them. They left just minutes before us." The large man towered angrily over Holmes. Lestrade frowned as he stood close by. The agent and the DI were holding back the twelve people who did not seem to know who to listen to.

"I have explained this to you already. The Detective Inspector has explained this to you already. You're two minutes and…" Holmes glanced at his watch, "Thirty seconds too late."

Holmes was growing increasingly irritated with the imbecile. "If you walk out that door, you **will **die."

"Really, they seem fine." The large man glanced out the glass door and looked at the small crowd of ten who had just left. They were almost to the end of the police barricade. He got into the Consultant Detective's personal space. "Death. Really, and how is that gonna happen mate?"

Holmes voice held irritation. "I have two theories. If you walk through that door, I'll see which one is correct." Sherlock moved himself in front of the door to block the man's way.

"I'm not staying," the large man took one sudden step toward the glass doors before several hands including Holmes grabbed at him.

Several persons gasped in surprise as the large man punched, pushed, and then broke into a run. An agent was about to follow him out the door when he was tackled by Holmes.

"It's too late," Sherlock, said in a breathy voice while lying on the floor next to the agent. He pushed his upper body up on one elbow, while still lying on the ground. He did not bother to stand up, his attention was on the running man. He followed him with his eyes. He hoped that he was wrong.

Within a few seconds, there was a high-pitched sound, and then a thud.

The large man's body suddenly spun while running, and fell. The force of the bullet, when it hit his skull, had twisted his body to the left. His hollow vacant eyes informed any would be rescuers that it was pointless.

When the man fell dead, panic broke free, and chaos had her day. Everyone was going in different directions. Some seemed to suddenly freeze, some screamed, ran, or cried. Some moved away from the building while others wanted a closer look at the dead man.

It was pandemonium.

The mobile that Moriarty gave Sherlock rang. He looked at the phone with a grim expression.

"It begins," Sherlock whispered.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. More late weekend. Let me know your thoughts.

Love to all.

** **Optional Fun Question**: What was the very first book written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, that introduced the character of Sherlock Holmes? Can you guess what it is?

If you want a hint, keep reading, if not, stop reading now.

Still there? Okay, here it is.

It was one of the quotes:

"There's the scarlet thread of murder running through the colorless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it." ~ Arthur Conan Doyle, Sir

Feel free to use the internet, but let me know if you already knew the answer, and did not have to look it up.

Have fun :)


	126. Chapter 126

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 126

_*This chapter is dedicated to my aunt. The world is a better place because you passed through it_

Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you for your recent post: Bookworm Gal (You are the first to answer. Correct your brilliances blinding. More "fun" ahead.), Dawnfire11 (Welcome, thank you for your post on near every chapter!), lizzie1250, (Genius, you know your Holmes), danishprince (Here is something to ease the tension.), Kitiara88 (Brilliant and correct. Here is more), bruderlein (You are magnificence and correct. More scary ahead.), T're Urvawi ( Correct, I bow to your exceptional intelligence. Thank you for your kind words.), gemstone1234 (Correct mate. I love the relationship between Mycroft and Sherlock as well.), Kelllie (Your magnificence is evident. Correct. More hopefully lovely chapters ahead.), kassandwich (Correct and brilliant. Have a cup of tea on me.), e la mucca salto sulla luna, (Thank you for your comments, insight, and kind words.), Prothoe (Thank you for your multiple post. More from our red scarf hero.) , Natalia (Correct you genius. Your comment made me smile.), Puky2012, (Thank you for your multiple post. You are correct. The sign of four. Two signs to go.) Catie501 (More twist and turns ahead.), Cumberbatch Of Derren Brownies  (Welcome), and to all guest and PMs thanks.

Cookies and tea on me. :)

Thank you ; e la mucca salto sulla luna, kassandwich, T're Urvawi, lizzie1250, Kelllie, Sdale05, jack63kids, kassandwich ,macgyvershe, cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.

**The answer to last week's _Fun Question_ was**: A Study in Scarlet.

**Edited** ******Congratulations!** Bookworm Gal, lizzie1250, Kitiara88, bruderlein, T're Urvawi, gemstone1234, Kelllie, kassandwich, Natalia, Puky2012, and Bookworm45669. Hooray. (I have done an off rhythm happy dance in your honor.)****

**Warning*******.*** **T rated**, However, there is some violence? ****. ****

Sorry for the delay, I meant for this to be posted by Sunday. Life's little drama. I also had to rewrite some things. It did not feel right before. I hope you enjoy.

I have written a few chapters so… Read all at once...or ...Read one chapter a day. The choice is yours. Make yourself happy. I will post again as soon as I can. Love to All.

"Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps… Part IV_

* * *

"_**I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the **__**darkness**__** because it shows me the stars.**__**"**_ ~ Og Mandino quote

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Short bursts of lights, flashed into the darkness. It created ghostly shadows that quickly disappeared. It came from various places in the night. News camera crews now join the newspapers. Well dress television personalities stood, using the hospital as a background. Their practiced faces turned toward the cameras. They spoke with faked sympathy and concern. Everyone reporter had a different theory. The most popular one had been that an act of terrorism was taking place, since the Scotland Yard official comment was; no comment.

A reporter walked up to the Sergeant who was in charge of the crime scene. The reporter pushed her way to the Sergeant. A recorder was thrust into the Sergeant's face.

"Kitty Riley from the _Star_." She introduced herself. "We need a statement. I have an unconfirmed report that the dead man was killed after a Mr. Sherlock Holmes pushed him out of the door. Comments?"

Donovan looked at the woman oddly. Something nagged at the back of her mind. She did not trust reporters in general, especially since the incident with Richard Brook and Holmes. But, there was something about this reporter that set alarm bells off in her mind. She wondered to herself.

Donovan put a false smile on her face. "I'm sorry, but right now information is still coming in. Off the record, I'm sure if Mr. Holmes is inside the building, it is a coincidence."

She walked away from the news reporter. Constable Grifton looked at her with concern. She nodded to reassure him. He nodded to her, before he returned his eyes back to the crowd. She glanced around quickly before she walked to a dark corner, pulled out pain medication, and juggled it in her hands as she attempted to not lose a grip on her mobile. She dry swallowed two pills whole.

Donovan then walked back out of the shadows and toward the barricade. Her mobile rang. She looked with relief as she answered her phone.

"Lestrade. I've been trying to reach you; what is going on? Please tell me that Holmes is not involved." She looked toward the glass window. "And, tell me that's not Holmes that I'm looking at," She paused and frowned. "And, since we're on the subject, why is he wearing a uniform..."

* * *

The reduced crowds went wild, when news camera crews zoomed in through the glass doors, and windows. The news footage revealed a small crowd, including a Detective Inspector, and someone who was rumored to be Sherlock Holmes, himself, just inside the double glass doors.

The news cameras witnessed an unidentified man rise from the floor. A second man slowly got up when he was pulled by the Detective Inspector. The second man seemed to be talking on a mobile as he stared out into the darkness. There was a shadowy silhouette of the man, as he stood, surrounded by light. He seemed to stare at the curious throng of people, outside.

The crowd had been pushed back. The body was still lying on the concrete, in the cold morning air. Blood had spread from the dead man's head, outward. Even in the dim light, the red velvet could be recognized.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Five Minutes Earlier.**_

The agent slowly removed himself from the floor. Sherlock looked toward the darkness as the lights from cameras continued to flash, in no particular pattern. The mobile rang for the second time. Holmes fingers stretched slightly as it reached for the mobile phone that Moriarty gave him.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position, but his tired limbs remained on the floor. Sherlock put the mobile to his ear. A part of him wanted to stay right there on the floor, close his eyes, and shut the world out. Another part of him knew that was not an option.

He sat on the floor as he let go of his pride. He had to reserve as much energy as possible. He pushed the connect button and waited for Moriarty to speak. "Maybe you should get off that floor before you give me ideas."

Lestrade's hand came down in front of him, as he looked wordlessly at Holmes. Sherlock left hand reached for Lestrade's hand, as his right hand held the mobile.

Sherlock made sure that his voice was steady and unreadable. "Quite a crowd."

Moriarty's voice had been just as unreadable. "There will be more excitement for the crowd if anyone tries to come, or leave without my permission."

"No one will try to get the body," Sherlock said loudly, as he made a point of looking at Lestrade. Lestrade walked a few feet away and pulled out his mobile. He started to speak to Donovan.

"Do you think I got their attention?" Moriarty asked playfully.

"Well, it certainly was dramatic," Sherlock said, as he used the mobile he nicked from the nurse, to send out text instructions. He walked toward the glass doors. He raised one hand and pressed his palm flat against the cool glass. The other hand held the mobile as he spoke to the madman. His mind calculated as he looked out into the darkness, which was interrupted by the flashing of lights.

"I told you that I would be unhappy if any of your sheep wandered away." There was a pause.

"Fifty-eight minutes left. Leave them to die. I will allow you, and you alone to walk out now. Leave them." Moriarty's voice took on a serious edge.

Sherlock used the time to walk and start moving back toward the injured agent. His voice came out fatigued and somewhat breathy, "Fifty-eight minutes you said?"

"Did I say fifty-eight, oh, I meant fifty-seven." There was a pause as Moriarty's chuckled. "I suggest that you turn on the telly, any one will do."

Sherlock quickened his pace with Lestrade, and one agent followed close behind. "Fifty-seven minutes, remember?" Sherlock pushed the button for the lift. He looked impatiently as he contemplated the stairs, while considering his energy reserves.

"I suggest that you find a telly, now." There was something in Moriarty's voice tone that made Holmes stop.

Sherlock stilled and spoke out loud, as he ran up to the closest waiting room.

"Telly," he said simply, because of the confused look on Lestrade's face. He ran up and manually turned on the television. All three men looked at the screen as it came to life.

There was silence in the small group as they watch the television. There was the image of a man with blood stained clothing, who was slowly limping up to the body of the dead man. His hands were raised. He looked bruised and slightly dazed. The man had approached from the dark side of the building. News personalities and reporters buzzed, as the night was once again lit.

The darkness, once again, exploded with flashes of white light. Several red dots rested upon the body of the mystery man.

Sherlock heard Lestrade inhale noisily beside him. Sherlock stood as still as a stone. His face was expressionless. He did not make a sound.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Miranda blew a frustrated breath through her pursed lips. She stood in the dim doorway watching quietly. Mycroft was fully dressed. He was in Thomas' villa next to hers. It was about Sherlock, the poor dear. From what she had _convinced _Mycroft to tell her. Some lunatic had a very unhealthy obsession with her younger son.

Miranda's eyes flashed with anger. Her son had been through so much during his life. He had borne it well. She hoped that Mycroft would become creative when he found the madman. She inhaled sharply as her eyes returned to William. What would happen if the man who was obsessed with Sherlock found out that he had a young, and defenseless child. Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft whimper of that child, as he lay in bed.

Miranda found herself next to William without realizing that she had even moved. She sat on the side of the bed as William opened his eyes. A bad dream, she thought, Sherlock used to have them.

"Shuuuu now love, it's okay."

William's sleepy eyes locked onto Miranda. William's whimpering started to die down as Miranda spoke softly to him. William's thumb found its way back into his mouth.

"Close your eyes little William, go to sleep." She repeated over, and over.

His eyes grew heavier. Miranda kissed his cheek as she continued to coo him. William smiled when he was kissed by Miranda. Moments later, he lost his battle with sleep. He lay in bed; he had kicked the duvet cover off in sleep. She could not resist gently running her fingers through the child's soft, curly hair.

She sighed again as she watched over her grandchild and thought about his father.

"Sherlock," She whispered.


	127. Chapter 127

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 127

Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**Warning*******.*** **T rated**, However, there is some violence? ****. ****

"Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps… Part IV_

* * *

" _**It never troubles the wolf how many the sheep may be**__**"**_ ~ Virgil quotes

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Holmes ignored the pounding in his chest. He blinked a few times when he realized that Moriarty was once again talking to him.

"...A trade. If a body is not where Doctor Watson is now standing, he will be shot. A body for a body. Whom will you choose? Who will live, Doctor Watson or one of your sheep?" Background noises were heard on Moriarty's line.

"Send someone to their death. Lie to them, push them out the doors. Beat them into unconsciousness and throw them out. Don't limit yourself - get creative." Sherlock could hear the amusement in Moriarty's voice.

Sherlock looked around at Lestrade. The Detective Inspector frowned at him. He saw the look on Holmes face. It was the look that always preceded running and screaming, or something unpleasant. He prepared himself for anything. One agent remained with the two men. The other agents and officers escorted any stray or lost persons to the cafeteria. It was where they were gathering all nonmedical, ambulatory persons who were still in the building.

Sherlock could not stop himself from swallowing hard. He looked for a way out, his brain thought of multiple scenarios, and possibilities. Moriarty noticed Sherlock's hesitation. Sherlock's whispered words that were not audible to the person's in the room, but Moriarty heard them. "He'll never forgive me."

Moriarty knew who he was referring to.

"If I… send you someone. You will not harm John." Sherlock voice was even, but Moriarty still recognized the note of suspicion.

"Yes, but whoever comes out will be shot. Dead, just to be clear."

Sherlock continued to have his eyes glued to the telly. His eyes did not shift when Moriarty started to speak again. "The person that you send will be shot in… cold … blood." Moriarty said the last three words slowly. "And, I know how your mind works; the person that you send out cannot be yourself. If I wanted you dead, I would have done it a long time ago."

Sherlock's eyes shifted again. He noticed the camera in the corner for the first time. How could he have not noticed it?

Moriarty voice took on an oddly intimate tone. "I know you. You're like me. You'll do everything in your power to keep your pet alive. Even if it is for a few more minutes. It's not that you care for him, you and I don't _care_ for anyone the way they do. You think that you need him to remind you that you're human, extraordinary, not a monster. You'll kill for him, won't you love? However, not for his sake. He's like one of your little experiments, he's interesting. I'll tell you a secret, just between us. I am starting to see why you think he is interesting. He's like a dog with two tails. There is something freakishly odd and different about him. But, what will your precious doctor think of you. Will he thank you, or hate you, if he ever finds out what you did to save him. And, don't worry, I'll make sure that he finds out."

The sound of Moriarty munching on food was heard. "Someone dies so that he lives. I do the shooting. No one needs to know that you're the gun and I was simply the bullet. Metaphorically speaking love."

"This is insane," Sherlock dry wiped his face before whispering. "I can't do this that's murder. The only one I want to murder is you."

Moriarty's chuckling was heard for a few seconds. He suddenly became silent.

When he spoke again, Moriarty's voice became deadly serious. "Yet, you will, won't you. Lie, steal, even murder, if there is even a chance that you can save him. Stop the protest, you're wasting time. We both know that you will do anything to save your pet. I'm right aren't I?"

He could hear Moriarty's giggle in the background.

Sherlock glanced at the agent before his eyes briefly linger on Lestrade. He frowned as Sherlock looked at him.

"Don't worry mate, they can't hear me. They can't read your mind. All sorts of naughty little thoughts are floating around in there, I'm sure. Keep a blank expression on your face and they'll never guess that even now, your mind is categorizing everyone like a machine."

Moriarty's voice took on a singsong quality. He took a brief pause. It sounded like he started to take sips of tea.

"Sorry about that, where were we? Oh yes, murder." There was the sound of another sip. "It is our secret; remember. You can continue to pretend that you're one of them. However, you'll know, and I'll know, and that's when it will happen, Sherlock."

The Criminal Consultant whispered menacingly. "You'll. Be. Mine."

Sherlock said nothing.

"Well, off I pop. You have a few things to do, don't you?"

Sherlock heard the sound of something being tapped. _Text on a mobile_, Sherlock's mind supplied.

"How about that adorable nurse. She seems to trust you. Tell her to help the doctor inside the doors. I'll do the shooting; of course, the blood will be on your hands. Don't worry; no one will know that you're a murderer. I'll even help you. I saw her; she just passed a camera on the first floor. I'll send the directions to the mobile I've given you."

Sherlock's voice was cold, even, and expressionless when he spoke. "Any other surprises for me, Jim?"

"None at the present. You'll be quite busy, won't you?" Moriarty chuckled. His voice took on a deadly seriousness. "Men are like sheep, of which a flock is more easily driven than a single one. Get control of your sheep, or I will. Can you hear them Sherlock, as they go off to the slaughter, bleating as they go? Bah… Bah… Baaaaah…"

The line was disconnected.

* * *

Sherlock kept the mobile to his ear for a second, thinking. He glanced at the telly again. He saw John. He came to a decision as he looked away. Holmes opened up a door in his mind and deposited all the emotions that he always claimed that he did not have inside. The door in his mind closed. He blinked a few times as he put Moriarty's mobile away.

The two men walked up to him. Lestrade took him by the wrist and asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Detective Inspector."

Lestrade frown deepened. Holmes looked at him. "No one approaches John. No one, do you understand?" He did not give Lestrade time to respond. "Tell Donovan that I need them to push the news crews and crowds back. Tell the media nothing. Make up a lie, I don't care. Just do not let them know what is going on in here. Oh, and I need everyone in one place. We cannot afford to have anyone wandering around unnoticed. If someone else tries to leave, stop them by any means necessary. Tie them up if you have to. Personal rights are on holiday." Before Lestrade could object he added, "It might become even more unpleasant for everyone in here, if anyone tries to leave again."

"And what exactly is going on in here," Lestrade asked offhandedly.

"A game. Beyond that I'm still working it out." Sherlock smiled, but it was false, mechanical, and plastic. It did not reach his eyes. Sherlock pulled out the nurse's borrowed mobile and rapidly sent several texts.

Lestrade got into his personal space and whispered so that only Holmes could hear, "You sure that you're alright."

"Fine," Sherlock said distractedly, "Time is running out Lestrade."

That seemed to put some fire into the DI. The Detective Inspector nodded and walked a few yards away, as he put his mobile to his ear, and started to give several commands.

Holmes now looked at Agent Pearson. Agent Pearson came close to Sherlock. Holmes led him away so that they were outside of the hearing range of Lestrade. The Consultant Detective spoke in a whispered tone. Lestrade was much too busy to notice.

"What orders have my brother given you concerning me?"

Pearson looked calmly at the younger Holmes. "I was ordered to follow your commands without question, Sir."

Sherlock suspected as much but had to be sure. "I have a few things that I need for you to do quickly. Find me Isoflurane, Morphine, a potent sedative, or narcotic. I need access to a computer with access to patient records. You're to be my legs. You can move much faster than I can. And, to be clear, you do need to move fast."

Sherlock fingers never stopped texting. Agent Pearson's mobile chimed to indicate that a text was waiting. He looked at his mobile, and then at Holmes oddly. He had two questions, but did not ask either. Still, he wondered how Holmes had gotten his mobile number. He also wondered why he would text him when they stood side-by-side. He read the text then looked at Holmes. The agent's eyes held questions. The experienced agent looked intently at Holmes for a few seconds before hearing Holmes speak again.

Holmes said needlessly. "You just told me that you were instructed to follow commands without question."

"Yes Sir." The agent ran off immediately to follow the detailed orders.


	128. Chapter 128

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 128

Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Warning*******.*** **T rated**, However, there is some violence? ****. ****

"Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps… Part IV_

* * *

"_**Men are like sheep, of which a flock is more easily driven than a single one.**_"

~ Richard Whately

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Moriarty sat as he slowly sipped on his second cup of tea. He looked at the monitors. They each had several boxes with black and white pictures of different parts of the hospital. On one screen, a camera showed Holmes as he entered a medical area. There was a person who appeared to be a young nurse already there. She smiled a surprised smile at him. Holmes' lips moved as he appeared to speak to her. She looked surprised. Her smile left. Her lips moved as she started to back up.

Moriarty raised his eyebrows; he suddenly wished that he had popcorn. He leaned forward as he tried to see the black and white images of Holmes more clearly. Holmes advanced on the young nurse as his large hands covered her mouth. Her hands pushed at him. Within seconds, a syringe came out; he injected it into the struggling woman. Her struggles lessened, and then stopped completely.

Moriarty looked, as Holmes lifted the young nurse up and deposited her on a trolley. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. He put a hand on her head then hesitated again and withdrew it. A sheet was pulled over her head as she was wheeled out the room. Moriarty smiled.

Moriarty whispered to the room. "I told you that I knew who you are, Sherlock." He took another sip of tea.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

John held his hands up, as he looked toward the hospital. He looked with the eyes of a soldier as he assessed possible threats and possible escapes. There were no possible escapes. He sighed. He was fatigued, sore, and tired. He noticed the flashing of lights behind his back. How embarrassing. He heaved another, more dramatic, sigh. He would never again tease Sherlock about his pride.

Sherlock.

John hoped that his friend was okay. He hoped that Moran did not have him. He did not think so, but who could be sure? John huffed now. What was he doing here? Moran had explained nothing to him. Of course, Sebastian was occupied. Striking a person who cannot defend himself must have been tiring for the man.

John looked in the reflection of the glass mirror. He noticed that they were still filming him. His eyes squinted. Two people were standing behind the glass door. He could not tell who they were, the glare from the lights made them appear as halo outlines.

Lovely.

Now someone was staring at him from behind the door. John rolled his eyes. A wave of nausea rolled through him as he swayed.

Great, that was all he needed. To be sick in front of the whole of London, brilliant.

At least they were filming his back and not his front. Moran had roughed him up a bit more than Moriarty approved. He wondered if Moriarty knew what a loose cannon he had in the man. One crazy was a risk, Moriarty and Moran together made two crazies. That was never good for anyone.

His mind returned to two repetitive questions. Where was Sherlock, and how was he. He hoped that he was okay.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Flashing lights from emergency vehicles littered the immediate area. There was still a small crowd, but most people thought it safer to watch from the comfort of their couches at their homes. The police had pushed the crowd back even further.

A BBC news reporter walked back, and forth, with nervous energy. She looked at the man who stood close to the glass doors, unmoving. There were several red dots on him. His hands were half way up, and in the air. She thought that she noticed him swaying slightly, but that was unimportant. The cameras were turned off currently. She gave regular reports at intervals. She looked intently toward the man. It was difficult to tell who the man was, even with the zoom lens of the news cameras. He appeared to be injured but from the distance, it was unsure.

"Two minutes until the next run." Someone told her, as someone else refreshed her makeup. She paid no attention. They were all unimportant. She rehearsed out loud what she was going to say. A wave from her assistant and she positioned herself in front of the hostage and building. She put on a practiced look of professionalism, yet, sympathy.

A man behind the camera counted backwards by ten.

_Three._

_Two._

He mouthed the word…

_One._

She looked into the camera and spoke. "It appears that the drama began late yesterday evening and still continues into the early hours of the morning. It is four-thirty. It seems that there was a mass evacuation of most of the occupants of the hospital; however, there are, by all accounts, over fifty persons still in the building, including a Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard. One unconfirmed report, is that there is apparently some sort of hostage situation taking place, although, the demands are unclear."

The reporter turned, and extended a hand toward the body on the ground that lay close to the standing man.

"There are still a lot of confusion and conflicting eyewitness accounts. What is confirmed is that there has been one death. There was some sort of timed exodus, and apparently no one else is allowed to leave…" The reporter put her hand up to the transmitter in her ear, and listened for a moment.

"There appears to be something happening behind me." The reporter watched the double glass doors open.

"Someone is being wheeled out the door. Whoever it is seems to be lying on a stretcher." The reporter watched as the trolley was pushed out.

"It appears to be some sort of hostage exchange." The reporter watched as the red dots that were on the head and chest of the man disappeared. The injured man limped into the hospital. He entered. The glass doors closed.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sherlock was alone in the lobby with the one agent that had helped him. That had been his plan. He stood still as he held the door open. When John realized that it was Sherlock in front of him, he exhaled with relief. He then locked eyes with Sherlock. Sherlock willed strength to John as he watched him walk toward him. Every step brought John closer. Holmes exhaled a breath that he did not realize that he was holding, when John stepped safely past the threshold of the double doors. Sherlock reached out a hand and half pulled him in. The glass door closed. Both friends looked at each other.

Sherlock's mind raced as he systematically looked at his friend. John sighed and allowed Sherlock to deduce and mentally examine him.

_Pain, trying to hide it_

_Extensive bruising_

_Black eye, split lip_

_Cut to face, caused by a ring_

_Handcuffed behind the back, aggravated his shoulder_

_Superficial cuts_

_Minimal blood loss, half a pint_

_Limping - Injury to leg- Right_

_Right knee sore_

_Pushed to knees_

_Abdominal bruising_

_One, no two bruised ribs, not broken_

_Possible bruised kidney_

_Needs fluids_

Sherlock noticed John's raised eyebrows and after a similar sigh, allowed John to do the same. John looked intently at Sherlock with a doctor's eye. When both men were satisfied that the other was not going to suddenly die, they both relaxed somewhat.

Sherlock took one-step closer as he invaded John's personal space. "Bit of a rough day?" Sherlock asked as he looked at the bruised man.

"A bit," John replied.

John attempted a smile. He licked his bruised lips. "Sherlock, you do realize that you look like shit."

Sherlock smiled his first real smile. It quickly turned into a pained look.

John noticed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing... Let's get you medical care." Sherlock looked at the agent.

"They'll be here soon," Agent Pearson commented as he talked into his mobile.

John swayed. Sherlock stepped even closer but did not touch.

John looked up as he blinked heavily, and smiled again. "I fully expect you to catch me. I'll be upset if I hit the floor and get another bruise."

Moments later, John's stop fighting the pull of gray. His body slumped. He heard a baritone voice say, "… I have you John." His eyes finally closed.

Sherlock sat on the floor. John lay in his arms, unconscious. Sherlock did not look when he heard several popping sounds just outside the glass door. He closed his eyes and opened them again. He ran a hand through John's hair.

"I've got you," he repeated to the air. Sherlock did not notice that he held John tighter.


	129. Chapter 129

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 129

Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Warning*******.*** **T rated**, However, there is some violence? ****. ****

"Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps… Part IV_

* * *

"_**I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure."**_

~Clarence Darrow

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Eight Minutes Earlier**_

Scotland Yarders, and several recently arrived Tactical Agents, moved closer to the hospital. Medical workers guardedly moved beyond the medical tape.

News crews and reporters continued to watch the drama unfold. In various places, including, houses, flats, and pubs, many people gathered around the telly.

The BBC news reporter continued her live report. She lowered her voice to add to the drama. "It would appear that two rescue workers are trying to approach the person on the trolley." Two paramedics cautiously ducked under the bright yellow police tape. They looked around warily as they slowly approached the body.

Several popping sounds pierced the air. The body on the trolley jerked in time to the thudding sound of flesh being pierced. The reporter looked confused for a second, but then ducked down when several screams filled the air.

"Keep filming," She hissed quietly as she covered her microphone with her hand.

The news cameraman continued to film and pointed the camera at the stretcher. The white sheets gradually changed color, as red spread slowly. It was almost as if someone was painting the sheets and covers. The _red paint_ spread to the ground.

The reporter slowly stood with the carnage of two dead bodies in the background. "Stop filming the bodies," She made a show of saying. Her cameraman raised an eyebrow at her hypocrisy, but said nothing. The camera slowly zoomed onto her face and zoomed away from the dead bodies.

"We would like to extend our sincere apologies, on behalf of BBC and its affiliates…" The reporter hoped that she looked sincere.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sherlock cradled John in his arms. He heard Lestrade's heavy footsteps. He could tell by the pattern that he was quite upset. A mixture of officers, agents, and medical workers followed him. Lestrade held his mobile up to his ears as he walked toward Sherlock. Whomever he was speaking to was quite upset as well. The DI was trying to reassure and calm that person down.

Greg Lestrade came to stand in front of Sherlock, and John. He looked at John concerned. "Fainted," Sherlock said simply.

Lestrade then looked at the bodies outside the door. Two now, he noted to himself. He looked at Sherlock. He noticed the way that Sherlock was avoiding his eyes. The man never avoided anyone's eyes. Holmes was normally not one for social niceties, or politeness.

Two of the medical workers had to tell Sherlock twice to let go. Sherlock looked at his hands as if they were foreign objects. He blinked twice and reluctantly let go. He watched as they lifted John onto the trolley then started an IV. One of the workers took John's vital signs. Sherlock watched them closely. Sherlock relaxed when he realized that John's vital signs were stable. The medical worker gave a smile before wheeling him away. Everyone that had arrived with Lestrade followed except for two agents, one was Agent Pearson.

Greg looked again at the body on the trolley. The body that is now where John was minutes before. He looked at Sherlock who looked at him for the first time. He studied the man for several seconds before a curse left his lips. He watched as Holmes slowly got to his feet and started to walk toward the corridor that led to the nearest lift. Lestrade followed Holmes and had to run slightly to catch up to the man.

"You have to trust me, Lestrade." Holmes said without stopping or looking at him.

"Tell me you did not do what I think you did, Sherlock. Tell me I'm wrong." Lestrade hissed a whisper for Holmes ears only.

Sherlock said without expression. "It's not difficult for me to tell you that you are wrong, it happens so frequently."

"Cut the crap!" Lestrade grabbed an arm. He looked at the agents that followed behind, he then lowered his voice to a whisper again. "I understand that you're under pressure but…"

Sherlock stopped talking and stepped into Lestrade's personal space. "You understand nothing…" They were both silent for a few seconds, as their temper flared.

"What was I to do, let him die," Sherlock dared Lestrade to say yes.

Lestrade's voice rose again. "Of course not but…"

"Hard decisions had to be made. Who was going to make them..," Sherlock looked condescendingly at Lestrade, "… you?"

Lestrade looked past Sherlock's defenses. He suddenly became calm. He saw the hidden look of pain that flashed in his eyes, and then suddenly was covered again. "You're not God, to decide who lives, and dies."

Sherlock's face became expressionless, "Someone has to try to keep us alive."

He walked up to Lestrade. Lestrade did not notice that he took a step back. The look in Sherlock's eyes was intense, almost primal. "You never answered me, what decision would you have made, Detective Inspector?"

An odd sort of a smile came to Holmes face. "Or, would you rather that the fifty-three persons who are still alive in this building, die. What am I now, Lestrade? Did you make a mistake about me; am I evil now, a freak? Here is the beautiful part, quite lovely in an evil sort of way; since that is what I have to be to save as many lives as I can. That is what I will be. I know that this is difficult, but, do try to keep up. If they die, their deaths will be multiplied. Their deaths will somehow cause the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands more. I have several theories, but I do not know yet how. That's what those bodies that were drained of blood gave a clue to."

Sherlock's body language was defensive and superior, but Lestrade had known Sherlock longer than anyone, and better than anyone except John, and his brother. Sherlock was walking on the edge. It was up to him, in John's absence, to keep him from falling off that edge.

Lestrade had had enough. He pulled both mobiles from Sherlock's hands. He gave both to an agent and said, "Hold these for him," he walked back to Sherlock before the agents could protest. The two agents tensed when Lestrade manhandled Sherlock into a room. Sherlock shook 'no' with his head to the agents before Lestrade closed the door. The door slammed loudly.

Sherlock looked beyond Lestrade, to a spot on the wall, to the right of his face.

"Cut the shite." Lestrade poked his friend in the chest. He ignored the guilt he felt when Sherlock grimaced. "Don't you let this Moriarty get into your head. You're not him, no matter how many times he tells you. You're not God, you're human. You make mistakes, just like the rest of us, even with that massive brain of yours. You're the only one who won't forgive yourself for that fact."

Lestrade sighed, but tentatively put his hands on the younger man's shoulders. "When this is over, there will be legal consequences for what happened today." Lestrade's voice lowered, it took on a fondness. "I don't agree with what you did today, but the truth is, I don't know what I would have done, and that's the truth. Whatever happens, I will stand beside you. Mrs. Hudson, John, and many more will too. You're not alone, not anymore."

The first hint of emotion cracked through. It was so reserved that none but those that truly knew the Consultant would have recognized it. Sherlock risked a look at Lestrade, instead of the disgust he thought that he would see, he saw a strength, forgiveness, and determination.

"No more, making decisions on your own. I think that you need to be the one to tell John when this is over. I don't envy you the task. I heard that he punches a lot harder than you'd think." The DI squeezed the shoulder of the younger man.

"You're Sherlock bloody Holmes, don't play Moriarty's games, do what you do best, out think the arrogant bastard."

There was a hint of a sad smile from Sherlock. He gave the tiniest of nods to Lestrade.

"Ready?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock nodded before he cleared his throat. "Yes."

Lestrade smiled. "It's time for you to use that massive brain of yours and save our arse."

Lestrade squeezed Sherlock's shoulders again. Sherlock tentatively held out his hand and squeezed Lestrade's shoulder back. They both rushed out the door and headed for the injured agent. Sherlock was convinced that the agent held the key. They made a quick stop to get John.


	130. Chapter 130

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 130

Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Warning*******.*** **T rated**, However, there is some violence? ****. ****

"Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.**…"**

… _White Knight, Black Knight_… _Unpredictable Jumps… Part IV_

* * *

"_** There are no unsolvable problems other than those I create in my own mind."~**_ Unknown

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sherlock paced back and forth as he mumbled to himself. His voice was so low, no one could make out the words that he said.

"It needs air. It also needs a trigger. What's the trigger here? What's the trigger?"

John frowned but watched quietly. He wondered what Sherlock was going on about.

Sherlock thought for a moment then looked at the Intravenous fluids.

Sherlock walked over to John and whispered a question. "John, hypothetically, can an explosive device be hidden inside of a body?"

John frowned. "Not impossible, but improbable. That is why it's not done. Bombs are made up of a collection of ingredients, but one important ingredient is air. If they somehow put it in his body, how would the device get air?"

With anyone else he would have said that he was crazy. But, John had learned to listen to Sherlock, and to take even his extreme ideas seriously.

"Those were my thoughts originally John, but, all of Moriarty's clues are pointing to this possibility. Many deaths coming from one origin. Death multiplied. "

John looked at Sherlock. "We can do a scan. It might be risky, but we have no choice."

Sherlock searched John eyes, thought for a moment, and then nodded. He called over the Doctor and quietly told him his suspicions. The doctor's eyes widened as he glanced at the patient. The doctor quickly gathered himself and set about doing a very specific examination.

* * *

**_Fifteen Minutes Later_**

Examination of the body went quickly. Several medical workers hovered over the agent. A portable scan confirmed Sherlock's concerns. Something was implanted into the abdomen of the agent. A tube from whatever it was, ran from the device into the esophagus of the agent. It stopped just below his throat.

"There is the source for the air." John whispered tiredly.

Sherlock voice was low but serious. "Ladies and Gentlemen, here is your bomb." Everyone looked at Agent Towson. Several of the medical workers took a step back.

"How do you hide a bomb?" No one answered. "You hide it under the disguise of mutilation. No one questions it because all that is seen is a fragile man. No one sees anything dangerous. Only someone in need of help. Everyone is focused on the person. The danger hides in plain sight."

"I suggest that everyone clears this room, except those who are needed to keep him alive." No more encouragement was needed. The room cleared in minutes. Two medical workers, Agent Pearson, and Doctor Cutler remained along with John, Sherlock, and the DI.

"Blood has been mixed with an unknown substance, with liquids that has the chemical purpose of keeping the body from rejecting the blood mixture, but there is more." Sherlock started to pace and mutter to himself again.

"The bodies looked like me. What am I missing? Death multiplied. Their blood was drained. His blood was drained. The rose represents a substitute for blood. His blood contents were substituted. If it is him. How could one man death cause hundreds or thousands to die? Sherlock closed his eyes and retreated into his mind. Sherlock stiffened as he twirled too quickly and looked at the body. He did not notice his own facial grimace."

"Sherlock, what is it?" John noticed immediately.

"Was anyone cut with a needle that was used on him. Was blood splattered on anyone that worked on this man?"

Voices spoke in hushed tones amongst themselves. Doctor Cutler answered. "No, but we always take standard precautions." One of the medical workers spoke up."Why?"

Sherlock did not answer him directly but stared at the agent.

"Sherlock?" John asked again.

Sherlock turned to John. "I was wrong. We are not just looking at a bomb, we are looking at ground one of biological warfare. It's in the blood. It is said that life is in one's blood, apparently so is death."

Sherlock's borrowed mobile rang. "Yes Mycroft," he looked at the body of the agent, "I know."

"The blood," he repeated to himself.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Fifteen Minutes Earlier**_

Thomas sighed in frustration. Myers was on her way back to London. He did not want to leave Mrs. Holmes, especially now with the young child. But, there was another part of him that wished that he was with her. He was a man of action and wished that he was back in London so that he could head a rescue mission, find a way to take out the snipers, something. He quieted his mind, and closed his tired eyes for several seconds before opening them again. He looked slightly behind him, and to his right.

Mycroft sat quietly next to Anthea in a corner. They spoke occasionally to each other. Mycroft made multiple calls to his brother, London officials, and his agents. He currently sat quietly, as he composed texts on his mobile. Anthea's fingers never stopped, or slowed. Thomas wondered if there were special exercises that she did to keep her fingers from cramping.

Irene sat at a table. Thomas occasionally watched her out of the corner of his eyes. She seemed almost at ease. She read a report then frowned before picking up a mobile that rung to indicate an incoming call. From what Mycroft Holmes had told him, she had been instrumental in helping Holmes, the younger, to take down Moriarty's web, during the time that Holmes was thought to be dead. His mind returned to a report.

Several minutes passed uneventfully. A few whispered conversations interrupted the relative quiet.

Thomas looked up at the sound of heels tapping quickly. Adler was coming in his direction. She glanced at Mycroft and he was on his feet. Mycroft's long legs carried him over to Thomas and Adler in seconds. Anthea was right behind him. Adler waited for Mycroft to move beside them before she spoke.

"My source found out the information that I requested. Two months ago, in a remote northern city of Timbuktu, French forces came across a bomb that exploded killing fifty people. They found that the perpetrators were some Tuaregk rebel. It was an assassination of Anadem Dine. It took place in his home. People get assassinated all the time. People die. What was important was the method of the bomb being hidden. Anadem Dine's brother was captured the day before. He was returned barely alive. The body of his brother was mutilated. The body was taken to Anadem Dine's home. The body had a brown colored IV attached to it when found. Every attempt at detaching the IV, led to the brother almost dying. Eventually, the brother did die. Within five minutes of death, there was an explosion. The explosion was so weak that it only killed Anadem Dine and the five other people that were in the room."

Anthea interrupted Adler. "I've just notified the National Health Service, EIS, and the World Health Organization, Sir." Anthea gave only a brief glance. She continued to text.

One look from Mycroft, and Anthea stopped texting, put her mobile to her ear, and made a phone call.

Everything came together in Holmes' mind in seconds. If he were a man given to emotions, he would have shivered.

Mycroft spoke evenly as he pulled out his mobile and text. "I can finish that story for you, Miss Adler. Within twenty-four hours, everyone who had contact with the remains of the body became ill. Luckily, a medical worker saw a pattern, and notified International groups, including the Epidemic Intelligence Service, and the Bioterrorism Unit, that were responsible for tracking new biological weaponry. Everything was kept quiet. However, one thing was obvious. Those deaths were a test. This terrorist group intended to spread its criminal purpose by taking control of Anadem Dine's criminal organization. It was obvious that eventually his plan was to test this method of murder in several other target countries. We arrested most of those who were involved in that plot, but all of the suspects mysteriously died."

"Moriarty was involved in this," Thomas said more to himself than the group. He sat his coffee down.

"I believe that he was more than involved in this Thomas. I believe that he organized the bombing and killings. It was a test. This is another test. Sherlock Holmes is the means of testing any weaknesses that this method of killing has."

Anthea looked at Mycroft. "He doesn't want to kill Sherlock, why would he risk him being in an area where he could become infected. He's obsessed with him. If he wanted him dead he would kill him himself."

"That is a troubling question." Mycroft frowned for a moment. Then he rolled his eyes. "Of course. Obvious. I do not believe that Sherlock is in danger of dying because of the contagion, but he could not make Sherlock aware of this fact, not part of the game. I strongly suspect that Moriarty has somehow already given my brother the injection for his immunity against the engineered, biological infection. He could not tell him. He enjoys Sherlock's pain. I, however, am not ready to test that theory."

Mycroft called Sherlock again. "Sherlock, I have some information for you…"

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sherlock hung up the mobile. The agent's brain waves had stopped over twenty minutes ago. But, his heart was still beating. Sherlock had a marathon of calls, back-to-back. He turned to John who was still on the mobile. He looked at Sherlock and held up one finger. Within a few minutes, he was finished. Sherlock walked over to John. He wanted John to avoid movement.

Lestrade walked up to the two men. "Everything that exchanges air has been shut down, all vents, and air exchange systems. All the remaining patients, and staff have been moved as far away from this area as possible, and close to the main exit. The Biohazard Team is just outside. They are ready to approach when safe. They will need to take all the snipers out at one time to avoid them firing randomly into the crowd, when they realize what we have done."

Sherlock nodded, but his eyes did not leave John. Sherlock frowned at the look John gave him.

Agent Pearson walked up to the group of men. "My agents have spotted four of the five snipers. The last one is being searched for. They are ready to fire a fatal shot, when ordered."

Sherlock nodded, but still his eyes were on John. John sighed.

"Yes, it's that bad," John stared at Sherlock. "The weapons expert that Mycroft had me speak to, examined the X-ray of the implanted device. They had seen fragments of one before in a lab that was raided. It is as you thought, it is a bomb. The agent's blood flows through the device. The continual blood flow keeps the machine from building up pressure. The brown colored medication in the IV helps thin the blood in a way, and helps to keep it flowing. When the IV runs out, his blood will coagulate. Pressure will build. It is comparable to the same was a pressure build up in a grenade. The slightest disturbance will cause it to explode. After that, the microscopic fragments of the contagion are breathed in. Everyone close enough to breath in the pathogen will be infected and die painfully in forty-hours. But, not before infecting other people. It's clever, very Moriarty, I'd say."

Sherlock grimly nodded his understanding.

Lestrade and the agent looked at Watson, and then at each other. Lestrade spoke up. "I'm sorry John, but I understood very little of what you just said."

John frowned, "Yeah, sorry. I had a Sherlock moment I suppose."

John tried again. "His heart stops - five minutes later - explosion - we breath in bad stuff - we get sick - we die."

"Oh," Lestrade said, "I almost wish that I did not understand you."

A medical worker overheard the entire exchange. She walked up and spoke. "His heart is not going to last much longer."

"How long is not much longer?" Lestrade asked.

She frowned. "Ten, fifteen minutes the most."

Sherlock was quiet as he stared at a wall. "Seal," he whispered to himself, "We need to seal him in."

Sherlock turned to John, "Where is the most sealed area in a hospital?"

John smiled. "Brilliant Sherlock, the morgue."

Sherlock looked at His friend. "John, is there any way to save him?"

John thinned his lips. "I'm sorry Sherlock, he is already brain dead. Clinically, he's alive, his heart still beats, but he'll never recover. Biologically his stats say that he's already gone. The heart usually does not last long after. His organs are already shutting down. IV, or no IV, his heart will not last much longer."

"Let's unhook him quickly, we have very little time." Sherlock spoke to all in the room. Everyone rushed about.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

An employee quickly walked from the room where Moriarty looked concerned. Sherlock was proving to be too clever. Despite not being able to hear what was said. The black and white video images showed that they were unhooking the agent. They had figured out how to limit the spread of his contagion.

"Inconvenient," Moriarty whispered. "Time for a distraction." He picked up his mobile.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

They quickly pushed the injured agent toward the lift. It was decided that Sherlock, Lestrade, and two medical workers would push the agent to the morgue. John followed them to the lift. He pushed the button as they waited.

Sherlock mobile rang. Sherlock pressed his lips together in anger but answered quickly. "I'm slightly busy at the moment Moriarty."

"Yes…yes, sorry to disturb you," Moriarty said insincerely.

Sherlock turned on the speaker function on his mobile. He had a feeling that he would not have time to repeat what Moriarty said.

Moriarty continued. "You and John only. I'm surprised at you both. Is that laziness, sending someone to finish your work. If anyone other than you and John move that body. My snipers will start to shoot randomly in the crowd. I assure you, they are quite good. Please don't be a moron, the five snipers that your brother's people are aware of, are not all that I have. Of course, I'll be generous, you can walk out now, I'll even let you take your pet."

"What about everyone else?"

"Of course not, I thought I just told you to not be a moron." There was a moment of silence. "The choice is yours."

The lift opened. John and Sherlock looked at each other. They simultaneously pushed the body into the lift. The doors started to close.

The medical worker gasped, "The keys," She said as she tossed it through the door at the last minute. The door completely closed. John and Sherlock looked at the keys on the floor of the lift, and then each other. Sherlock did not notice that he had hung up on Moriarty.


	131. Chapter 131

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 131

Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

"Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the

chess pieces.**…"**

* * *

"**_Run like hell and get the agony over with._**" ~ Clarence DeMar

* * *

**_Current day_**

**_Current time_**

Sherlock and John ran through the lower level of the building. John held on to the trolley. He used it to help balance and pull himself along.

"Almost there, John," Sherlock said in a breathy voice of encouragement.

"Sherlock!" John shouted. "The agent stopped breathing. We have to keep the blood circulating. Help me up, Sherlock,"

Within seconds, John was kneeling over the agent, and performing chest compressions. Sherlock pushed the trolley along, while in a full run.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Lestrade moved everyone toward the front of the hospital. Five beds with critically ill patients were at the back of the room. Multiple ambulances, and other transport vehicles were waiting outside. Agents, and Yarders help them to hold back the anxious crowd.

His mobile rang. He started to speak right away. "Donovan, are you ready out there?"

"Yes Sir," Donovan answered. "As ready as we're going to be, that is."

Lestrade turned and spoke to the room. "No one moves until I say, but when I say run, run."

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

_Five Minutes._

They slammed the heavy door behind them. It would be five to seven minutes, once the blood stops circulating, before the implanted device exploded. The body had been deposited inside a freezer cabinet, in the inner chamber of the morgue. Now they ran for their lives.

They came to a lift but there was no time to wait. They headed toward the stairs. John leaned heavily on Sherlock. Sherlock thinned his lips, but did not complain.

_Four Minutes._

Sherlock slammed his shoulder into the door as he clumsily half-dragged John inside the stairwell. John did not complain, but he did start to grunt half way up. Their feet ran clumsily up the stairs. They scurried from one step up to the next, as they avoided slipping.

"You're… Doing well… John," Sherlock breathed out in an encouraging voice. John said nothing but continued to move.

John's fingers gripped the handrail as Sherlock grip tightened on John's hand that was around his shoulder. His face and body was sweaty from the injuries and the physical exertion. As they were rounding the turn, half way up the stairs, his hand slipped. Both Holmes and John, fell on the floor.

"Leave me… Slowing you… Down." John could barely speak.

Sherlock was already pulling him up. "Would you leave… me?"

John looked in his best mate's eyes as he pulled himself upright. John tried to smile. He whispered, "Well then." Sherlock smiled back. They started to move again.

They had three minutes left.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

In darkened rooms, several men at different locations moved silently into position. They were dressed in black colored, full body armour.

One tactical officer's boots braced against the floor as he placed his body in a partially kneeling position. He listened as a voice spoke orders through an earpiece. Eyes looked through the lens of his assault rifle. It was positioned at a window overlooking his target. The officer looked at Moriarty's sniper, as he pointed his weapon at the crowd below.

The tactical officer watched the movements of his target carefully, as he waited for the order to fire.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

_Two Minutes _

They passed through a heavy metal door. Sherlock took a second to shut it properly. He wanted as many barriers between them and the explosion, as possible. Both John and Sherlock were growing weary, but they continued to run.

_One Minute_

They ran toward another double door. They were halfway to it, when they both stumbled. Sherlock was able to correct their balance so that they did not fall. Their legs and abused bodies burned with the effort of movement. Their movements were becoming more sloppy and increasingly uncoordinated, yet they both fought hard to remain upright.

Sherlock blinked away the sweat from his eyes as his breathing became harsh; it echoed John's breaths.

The floor started to vibrate. Both men glanced at each other. They, however, did not stop running.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

When Lestrade felt the first sign of vibration, he bellowed, "RUN!"

He helped a medical worker to push a bed. The DI tried to ignore the hollow pit in his stomach when he thought of John, and Sherlock.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

People were running below. Officers and agents ran toward them to assist. They maneuvered around the dead bodies as they quickly ran toward the waiting medical workers. The crowds were pushed back even more to avoid contact.

The tactical officer ignored the chaos below. His full attention was on his target. He listened as a voice gave the command to _'Go'_ in his earpiece. He looked through the lens of his assault rifle at Moriarty's sniper. He took a deep breath, in and out. He took another, and held that breath.

He fired his weapon.

A few trained eyes looked upward at the flashes of light. Most of the crowd never knew of the drama, taking place just above them.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

The ground trembled, as a loud clap of sound pierced the air. Windows near the north-west corner of the building back shattered. Debris of glass, soot, and wreckage expanded outward as it rained onto the welcoming ground. A small cloud of black and gray smoke followed close behind and blended into the darkness.

On the horizon, the faintest of predawn light witnessed the drama.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Several Minutes Later_**

Lestrade looked grimly as medics treated and prepared to transport the occupants of the building. Lestrade was blocked from going back into the building to search for Holmes and Watson. Everyone had been stripped of their clothing, showered, and dressed behind a privacy screen. They were each then given a blue, one-piece jumper to wear, while they waited to be transported.

Greg noticed a nurse sitting on a trolley across from him, in the tent that had been set up to block the news networks as well as provide privacy and warmth. He searched his mind. He got up quickly and walked over to her. She looked cautiously at him. He tried to smile.

"I'm Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard. I know you've been through an ordeal, but can you answer just a few questions."

She seemed to relax when she noticed that he had on the same blue, one-piece jumper that she was wearing. "You were in there, then?"

Lestrade smiled again. "Yes, we're lucky to be out, I'd say."

She smiled now. "Yeah." Her face became thoughtful. "It's all a bit foggy. I volunteered to stay behind and help with the patients. Next thing I know, I see a patient of mine that rather disappeared earlier. I smiled at him. I was amused, but a bit confused to find him dressed in a uniform."

She shifted slightly as she looked into his eyes. "He walked toward me and said he was sorry, and I was not to be afraid, but a bit of resistance was good, it would make it look authentic. I was convinced that he was a bit of a nutter. I saw the syringe in his hand and tried to back up and find a way to leave the room." Her frown deepened. "The next thing I know, I'm waking up out here. It seems that I slept through all the excitement." Nurse Abbey blushed slightly. "Someone had removed my uniform top and replaced it with a hospital gown. I'm afraid that's all I know." She shrugged.

Donovan walked up to the tape but could not pass. Lestrade saw her and gave a nod.

Lestrade smiled broadly now. "You've been most helpful."

Lestrade walked toward Donovan.

"You okay," he asked her.

"Fine, Sir," Sally said immediately.

Lestrade nodded at her. "Anything on Holmes, Watson?

"Not yet, Sir. They are preparing to enter in biohazard suits."

There was a moment of silence. Lestrade looked toward the building.

"There _is_ something, interesting Sir." Sally raised her eyebrows.

That gained Lestrade's attention. "And that would be?"

"The body on the trolley, it was already dead. A young woman died about an hour ago, but because of the evacuation, she was never taken to the morgue. Someone dressed the body in a nursed uniform top and put fresh packs of blood, from the blood bank under the clothing. When the body was shot, the bags of blood burst. The body moved naturally when hit by the bullets, because no rigor mortis had set in yet. It was, excuse the term Sir, fresh." She looked at her DI. "It's just my opinion, but this has Holmes, written all over it."

Lestrade looked toward the building and smiled. "You might be right, Sergeant Donovan."

She followed his eyes. John and Sherlock were slowly exiting the building. They held on to each other as they swayed along. Sherlock and John were covered in dust from the building, and their hair was sticking up, and out of place. Four emergency workers ran full speed toward them. The first to arrive took John away from Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock fell on his hands and knees from fatigue. The second worker pulled Sherlock from the ground, and flung his arm around his shoulder. Several more workers arrived to help. This was a good thing, since John decided to lose consciousness again.

Lestrade cleared his throat. He closed and opened his eyes with relief. A relieved smile was on his face. He looked at Donovan with mild amusement. "I'm glad Sherlock doesn't have his overcoat. He loves that thing. Imagine what would happen if they told him it would have to be burned."

"That's a scary thought, Sir; he might have ended up murdering someone." Donovan looked at Lestrade.

Lestrade raised both eyebrows. He chose not to comment.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Miranda Holmes took a sip of tea. She paced back and forth as she waited for news from her eldest son. Her thoughts raced from one subject to another as her sharp mind tried to work out how to handle the new dangers to her family.

She heard footsteps approaching and knew that they were Mycroft's. She prepared herself and stilled her body. She waited for him to enter the small area.

He walked in and stood before his mother. He did not say a word, but looked at her. She studied him for a few seconds before a smile appeared on her face.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, as the corners of his lips, turned up into a faint smile. They stood silent for a few moments before Mrs. Holmes spoke.

"Tea dear?"

* * *

A/N: More as soon as possible. Do not forget to comment. Thank you to those of you who do faithfully. Love to all.

** **Optional Fun Question**: Five words are in the last chapter. These five words were spoken in both Doctor Who, and Sherlock Holmes A Scandal in Belgravia. Can you guess what it is?

This is a difficult one. Don't feel bad if you don't get it.

Do you want a hint?

Look up the word, correr in Spanish. (Correr) used as an intransitive verb.

Have fun :)


	132. Chapter 132

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 132

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

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*****The answer to last week's _Fun Question_ was: "… when I say run, run." That phrase is found in both Doctor Who,  and A Scandal in Belgravia .

******Congratulations! **georgiporgiepuddingandpie, RiverSong11, socalrose, bruderlein, hjohn302, Voldemort101, Puky2012, and honorable mention to kassandwich (You all did great! I was not sure that anyone would even know this one!)****

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

I have written a few chapters so… Read all at once...or ...Read one chapter a day. The choice is yours. Make yourself happy. I will post again as soon as I can.

"… Should a pawn get all the way across the board to reach the opponent's edge of the table, it will be promoted. The pawn may now become any piece that the moving player desires, except a king or pawn..."

… _The Promotion of the Pawn… Part I…_

* * *

"_**Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing**_

_**to attempt."**_ ~ Shakespeare

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He glanced at the generously oversize windows. The moon peeked in, and out of the cloudy, darkened sky. His eyelids slowly parted. There was confusion for a moment. A shaky hand was brought up to his eyes, as his face was dry-wiped. He inhaled and exhaled deeply as he attempted to blink away the blurred edges of his vision. The room progressively sharpened and images became clearer and more defined. The low buzzing sound in his ears dissipated. He remained still, as he stared up at the ceiling. His mind fog cleared. His thoughts transformed from disorder to order, as he looked slowly around the space that he was in.

A one-liter bag of intravenous fluid hung on a pole by his bed. His eyes shifted as they visually traced the fluid filled catheter tubing line, which ran from the IV bag, to his left arm, where it was inserted, disappearing in a vein. The fluid was filtered through a silent machine. His glance returned to the room.

He knew that he was not in danger. The same instincts that kept him alive, past one tour of duty in Afghanistan, insured him that he was safe. Still, he looked around the room with the eyes of a soldier. He was at the Holmes family manor, in one of the guest rooms. This was Mycroft's doing. He, apparently, did not think the hospitals to be currently safe.

Everything seemed to hurt. However, the pain was dull and distant. _Pain medication, _John thought.

John's eyes came to rest on a chair next to his bed. He turned his head slightly and looked at the chair. The first thing that he noticed was dark tufts of curls that hung over a face. He turned his head slightly to the left as he looked at his friend. John was always amazed at the way that Sherlock, despite his height, was able to contort himself into the smallest of spaces. Both legs were pulled up to his chest. His entire body was leaning to the side of the chair. His face was partially hidden underneath a combination of curls and body, as it rested on the side of the chair. One arm rested on his legs, the other was resting on the bedside next to John, but not touching.

It was strange to see Sherlock asleep by his bedside. Sherlock would never admit to it if awake, but the younger man almost seemed to be guarding him. John thought that he should know; he had spent countless hours guarding Sherlock's bedside in many hospital rooms, over the years.

John smiled and looked at Sherlock. His smile left. Sherlock should really be in a bed of his own. He thought briefly of waking the sleeping Consultant Detective. John winced slightly as he raised his hand to shake Sherlock's arm, to wake him. John's hand froze above his friend's arm, before lowering again. He frowned and hesitated. When Sherlock slept, it was one of the few times that he was unguarded. His mouth was slightly open in sleep. If it was not for the bruising on the side of his face, and dark circles under his eyes, John would have said that he looked, peaceful. Sherlock would usually wake at the slightest provocation. The fact that he had not even stirred when John shifted in bed, was an indication to John of how exhausted Sherlock must have been.

John tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. His eyes were growing heavy. He took one last look at Sherlock before allowing them to close. He meant to close his eyes briefly, but sleep wrapped him, like a warm blanket and did not let go for three hours.

* * *

When John opened his eyes, hours later, two pairs of gray- blue eyes were looking at him. He looked around and saw a few changes since the last time that he was awake. Sherlock was now fully awake and dressed in a suit, it was daylight, and there was an eat-off tray filled with assorted foods. There was no coffee, but there was tea. A most pleasing aroma drifted toward John's nose. Sherlock gave him a moment to take everything in, before he spoke.

"I thought you would be hungry, seeing as you've mostly slept for forty hours and twenty-seven minutes."

John gestured toward the food. "How did you know that I would wake up now? Everything is hot?"

"Your REM sleep. I paid attention to the time when you started to dream by your rapid eye movements. Based on the amount of sleep your body would require, because of the physical trauma you have endured; your rapid eye movements were the best indication of the time that you would wake."

John said nothing. He just raised an eyebrow slightly.

Sherlock rose from his chair. "Let me help you to sit up."

John's eyebrows rose further. He sincerely hoped that Sherlock was not a mind reader. Because, at that moment, he decided that he could get used to being served by Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

250 Knots.

The giant metal bird slowed its descent as it cut through the dense clouds. The sun's rays colored the morning sky. Moments later, three hundred meters above the ground, the land came into view. The experienced pilot checked his instruments with a practiced ease. He informed the tower of his approach. The airplane flaps were 45 degrees in preparation for a touchdown.

The airplane's wheels touched and bounced briefly on the earth. After a short while, the flaps retracted fully. The aircraft slowed progressively until it came to a full stop.

Within minutes, several men in suits exited the airplane. They looked around with cautious eyes at the immediate area. They searched the dim light for phantoms that never appeared. One man pushed a button on his microphone and gave the 'all clear,' command. Moments later, a tall man exited. Both hands gripped the handle of his umbrella, as he leaned lightly on it. He breathed in the air that he thought to be the 'sweetest' in the world. He did not consider this thought sentimental, just a fact. He was home. An elegantly dressed woman stood beside him. She watched him as he looked at the first lights of dawn.

"Sir," She asked when he took an uncharacteristically long time to move.

Mycroft looked into the eyes of his ever present and faithful assistant. She looked back with questioning eyes.

"Ready Sir?" Anthea asked with a small smile.

Mycroft returned a rare smile. It seemed that he was giving her quite of few lately. "When am I not ready?"

Anthea smile became wider as she followed him into the limousine. The dark motorcar drove hurriedly toward the outskirts of London.


	133. Chapter 133

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 133

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

"… Should a pawn get all the way across the board to reach the opponent's edge of the table, it will be promoted. The pawn may now become any piece that the moving player desires, except a king or pawn..."

… _The Promotion of the Pawn… Part I…_

* * *

"_**When brothers agree, no fortress is so strong as their common life."~**_ _Antisthenes_

* * *

_Events refer to a conversation between the brothers in chapter 106._

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

The room was lined with wood. Oak was used heavily in the room. Sherlock crossed his legs. A slight sliding sound was heard as his dress shoes slid on the beautiful oak floors. John would not be awake for another six hours. He would have lunch made and ready before John woke. He would have one of the staff make John's favorite tea as well.

He looked at the door that led to John's room. If John had died… Sherlock stopped the thought.

_Delete_…

He looked toward the mantel above the fireplace. He noticed the family photographs. He was smiling in the early childhood ones. He glanced at the ones that were taken when he was older. The smile became less broad every year until a stoic look replaced the smiles.

He looked away and glanced around the room.

Sherlock quietly looked around. Data and detail floated in and out of his mind. He noticed the pattern of dust, or the lack of it. He noticed the way the books were arranged. He deduced which book was the last one that was read. The smell of the wood. The oiled rubbed on the wood. The smell of the leather books. The slight staleness in the air. He used to escape into this room often as a child.

He closed his eyes.

Information… Data… Information… Data… Memories… Memories… Delete… Delete…

_Delete…_

_Delete…_

_Delete…_

He heard a throat being cleared in front of him. How had he not noticed Mycroft's approach?

Sherlock did not open his eyes. "You've arrived rather quickly." He opened his eyes slowly. "How is Mummy?"

Mycroft looked at his brother, intently. Sherlock was much too exhausted to try to hide or cover himself emotionally. Sherlock allowed his brother to look and deduce. Mycroft was dressed in his suit without his umbrella. He rarely carried it when he was in the Holmes family manor. A few strands of hair were out of place in his brother's normally impeccably styled hair. Mycroft had been looking tired lately. Sherlock had always thought of Mycroft as eternal and indestructible. The thought that his brother might be flesh and blood, was as troubling, as it was comforting.

Mycroft did not bother to ask his brother, how he knew that he had been with their mother.

Mycroft looked over Sherlock. It had been six days since his brother's attempted kidnapping. He would not admit it aloud, but it was terrifying to hear his normally reserved brother cry out his name before the mobile phone line became disconnected. It had been a little over forty hours since John and Sherlock staggered out of the hospital after beating Moriarty once again. He wondered how long Sherlock would be able to play the game without losing himself. The fact that Sherlock was emotionally naked before him, was telling.

After several long minutes, Mycroft answered. "She is determined to see you, and before you become angry or comment, yes, I tried to persuade her against the idea."

Mycroft gave a tired, defeated smile, and sat in the chair opposite his brother's chair before adding. "And yes, I was unsuccessful. Mummy is more formidable than Korea."

Sherlock chuckled softly as he turned and looked at Mycroft. Mycroft smiled at Sherlock's amusement. For a moment, a brief moment, the years melted away, and they were just two brothers sitting together, enjoying each other's presence. Sherlock closed his eyes, as he suddenly winced. The moment was broken.

"Headache." His brother did not ask a question.

Sherlock heard his brother's voice through a haze of pain. His eyes remained closed. He tried to nod, but he was not sure if he did.

Somewhere in the haze, he heard his brother's voice break through. "… open your mouth Sherlock." Sherlock eyes squinted as he looked at his brother bending over him. He closed his eyes again but opened his mouth with uncharacteristic obedience. He felt two solid, oval shaped pills deposited on his tongue. Seconds later, he felt what appeared to be a glass next to his lips. He drank without question; the cool water was soothing to his throat. He could not say confidently how much time had passed before he opened his eyes again, but when he did, Mycroft was quietly observing him from his chair.

Sherlock took a few moments to allow the last of the pain to ebb away. He then sighed and looked at his brother. Mycroft at some point had turned off the lamp on the table, and closed the curtains to block out the light. The elder brother now turned back on the lamp that was located on the end table. Dim light once again illuminated the large space.

The situation had brought a memory to mind. Sherlock now remembered how Mycroft had helped to care for him when he was a child. He had forgotten, funny that.

Mycroft quietly observed his brother. Mycroft's eyes traveled over Sherlock's body. It came to rest on his brother's neck. The bruises had already started to heal, but there were still greenish-yellow tinged bruises on his neck that were very obviously shaped like fingerprints. His eyes lingered there deducing before it returned to Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock looked at his brother for a few minutes silently. He knew when he could push or evade Mycroft. He also knew when Mycroft was not in a mood to be trifled with. This was the latter. There was no point. Mycroft would simply obtain his medical records, if he had not already done so. More importantly, everything that happened to him, including Anderson, was a part of Moriarty's game. They both would have to work together to defeat him. Even though he still had memory gaps, he knew this with an urgency.

Sherlock opened his mouth and spoke. He did not look at his brother directly, but chose a point just beyond his head. He did not omit anything, and spoke with an almost clinical detachment that bordered on unhealthy. He finally stopped speaking and risked a look at Mycroft. Mycroft's face, to anyone who did not know him, was cool and collected. Those who did know him would have seen the fire in his eyes.

Sherlock noticed and frowned. "I need for you to let me handle this."

Mycroft said nothing; he only raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock looked at his brother. "Anderson cannot be charged, or prosecuted Mycroft. Not without Lestrade becoming involved."

Mycroft raised his other eyebrow.

Sherlock sighed. "You cannot have the idiot disappeared either," Sherlock voice was low. "Lovely thought, as it is. He is being watched carefully."

Mycroft was silent, but his eyes communicated his clear intent.

"Don't you see Mycroft, Moriarty is clever," The first hint of emotion colored Sherlock's voice. "If I report Anderson, Lestrade could be disciplined. He was the one who called me to the scene and left me alone with a man who had made threats to me. I have no doubt that Moriarty has an influence on Lestrade supervisor. If I say nothing, Anderson will grow bolder because he thinks that he has gotten away with… attacking me and might try it again. Either way, Moriarty is entertained."

"He is both trying to punish me, and he is also trying to attack anyone who has ever supported me in any way. He has attacked or tried to attack, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Adler, and Molly," Sherlock voice wavered slightly, "and John."

Sherlock voice became low and even. "Moran could have killed him."

He paused and looked at his brother. "If you were not Mycroft the untouchable, and I was given to moments of sentiment, I would be… concerned about you as well. Mummy needs to stay away from me until this is over. We cannot afford for any attention to be drawn to her."

A shadow shifted on Mycroft's face. It was gone in a second but Sherlock saw it.

"You're keeping something from me Mycroft. Something critical." Mycroft openly frowned. He seemed to be considering something.

"Yes," Mycroft Holmes admitted simply.

Sherlock looked intently at Mycroft, "Care to share?"

Mycroft chose his words carefully. "Not at this time."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it when he looked in his brother's eyes.

Mycroft exhaled relieved. He knew that Sherlock was showing him trust. He would give him time before he asked again.

Mycroft changed the subject. "The attack provoked some memories returning."

Sherlock frowned, "Some. Two years of the memories returned."

"But there is some problem," Mycroft said as a matter of fact.

"Yes, There are holes in my memory. I can remember the day of the explosion when Moriarty kidnapped me. I cannot remember the day before. I can remember being on top of the building's roof, getting ready to jump. Looking at Moriarty bleed. I can remember falling into the lorry and waking up in Molly's bed with a dislocated shoulder. I remember going to see Mrs. Hudson and John at my grave. I remember seeing you before I left." He hesitated. "I remember Ms. Adler. I however cannot remember anything but bits and pieces of the year spent dismantling Moriarty's web."

Sherlock looked at his brother, "It's like I am looking at a picture puzzle, but someone took several key puzzle pieces out." Sherlock laughed without humor. "It gets worse. I remember enough to know that I was investigating Moriarty. I've discovered some things about him and his past that are critical to what is going on now. That is probably what drew his attention to me."

"I remember enough to know that there is something important that I have forgotten." Sherlock looked intently at Mycroft. "I cannot wait for my memories to return naturally to me. I have to force them to return."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock and frowned. "It's too dangerous."

Sherlock looked determined. "It's my danger to take."

"No, this discussion is over," Mycroft rose from his chair.

Sherlock rose as well and blocked Mycroft's retreat. Mycroft became angry.

"Your danger you say." Mycroft scoffed. "You have responsibilities. Don't you realize that your life, harm, or death affects those around you, those people on that nice list of yours? The list of people who worry about you, those people that care about you will be affected."

Sherlock hissed. "Who do you think that I am trying to protect. Moriarty, for Moriarty, has been rather restrained. We both know that he is unhinged. If it was not for the fact that he considers himself trying to win me over, he could have disappeared with me again. What happens when he gets tired of the games, and decides to just take me and disappear against my will." Sherlock looked in Mycroft's eyes, "Or worse."

Mycroft hissed back, "The human mind is not something to be played with, like one of your little experiments. Moriarty has already done experimentation and tried, somewhat successfully, to take your memories away. That idiot Anderson has caused your memories to come back out of order, which means there are huge gaps in them. You're starting to have headaches again. Who knows what damage that idiot has provoked?"

Mycroft invaded his brother's personal space, "It. Is. Dangerous!"

"I will not have that simpleton, Anderson knowing more about my personal life than I do!" Sherlock had one hand on his hip. The other was gesturing enthusiastically.

Mycroft and Sherlock were face to face. A battle of wills took place for several minutes. Mycroft huffed and sank into his chair like a brick in water. "There is a way. It will be unpleasant and dangerous. Also, I will need time to prepare."

Sherlock opened his mouth but Mycroft cut him off.

"We prepare first Sherlock; I want you to come out of this with all your faculties and that charming personality of yours, intact." Mycroft smiled falsely.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow before sitting back down opposite his brother. "I am charming, am I not?"

Mycroft said nothing; his false smile however, became real. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

Mycroft sighed heavily. "You have not told John everything."

The corners of Sherlock's lips curled into a smile. "John would have shot him. He wouldn't have killed him, of course, but I have no interest in John being arrested for shooting the idiot. There are other ways to take care of Anderson. Besides, Moriarty is using him, we can do the same."

Mycroft sat up straight, suddenly interested, "You have a plan."

"But of course," Sherlock looked at Mycroft.

For the next hour, the brothers spoke back and forth. It ended with a brief quiet.

"Well, off I pop. I have several agents that will continue to guard you and John. I have business to attend to, then I will be back in the morning."

Mycroft turned to leave. He heard is brother's voice before he reached the door that was furthest from where they were, on the left side of the room.

"John's in the east wing, not far from your room."

"I know, I asked you both to be put there in adjoining rooms." Mycroft disappeared out the door.

So, Mycroft had purposely put him next to John. In addition, John and he had been roomed, as far away from his childhood bedroom as possible. Mycroft was being considerate. No. It must have been a coincidence. Mycroft was the one who taught him that sentiments were unimportant, even dangerous. That was Sherlock's logical conclusion. He frowned as he joined both hands together, fingertip to fingertip. Yet, he could not stop himself from looking toward the door that his brother had just exited, and wondering why Mycroft seemed just the slightest bit less annoying.


	134. Chapter 134

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 134

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

"… Should a pawn get all the way across the board to reach the opponent's edge of the table, it will be promoted. The pawn may now become any piece that the moving player desires, except a king or pawn..."

… _The Promotion of the Pawn… Part I…_

* * *

"_It is by chance that we met, by choice that we became friends.__"_

* * *

_**One Week Later**_

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sherlock stood facing the window. He saw the familiar black sedan that sat just outside the flat. He saw another one slightly down the street. He heard a faint shuffling noise behind him. He exhaled a breath, but did not turn around. "You should be in bed, not up and about. You're still healing."

John walked closer and looked in the direction that Sherlock was looking. "Should we pretend that little speech, which just came out of your mouth, was not the biggest and most hypocritical statement in the history of man?"

"It might be for the best." Sherlock turned his head slightly, smiling. His smile quickly left. He turned back to the window.

John stood silently for a moment. "I'm fine Sherlock."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the familiar words.

John shrugged then sighed.

"You're worried about the next… game." There was a moment of silence before John spoke again.

"I'm worried because you're worried, and don't say that you aren't, I know you are." John looked at Sherlock now. "What are you thinking?"

Sherlock smiled darkly. "About puppets."

John frowned. "Come again?"

"Puppets John. Moriarty will use his puppets in the next game. He'll be attempting to teach me a personal lesson, since I have not shown the … proper improvement, so far. I have not shown my darker nature."

Sherlock looked at John now. "The sign of four John, This will be the third sign, only one left. He already has almost everything he needs in place to demonstrate to the world that he is Caesar. Years of his planning are finally falling into place. He wants to be worshiped." Sherlock huffed to himself. "I think he never had pets as a child."

"Do you mean that he will use other people for this game, instead of coming at you directly himself, like the other games?"

"Yes, and he'll risk everything in doing so." Sherlock smirked darkly.

"Moriarty is a master puppeteer. He is pulling the strings of his puppets. However, he seems to be tiring of staying in the shadows. Being a puppeteer, even a master one, and staying distant and untouchable, seems to not be enough anymore. He usually stays above it all, but now, he wants to be part of the game. When it comes to me, he has already risked greatly." Sherlock turned back to the window.

John's frown deepened. "If he has all this power, if all his years of planning have caused everything to finally fall into place for him so that he can be master of the universe, why would he risk it?"

"He's bored." A humorless smile lit the younger Holmes' face. "For someone with a mind like ours, being bored is the worst sort of hell."

John did not like the fact that he put himself in the same category as the insane genius. "You're nothing like him Sherlock."

"Am I not?" Sherlock did not look, but felt John shift closer. "Sometimes John, I wonder what would have happened to me, if you were not in my life. Is there something evil inside of me that I simply have never given birth too? Moriarty thought so. That is why he tried to erase all memories of Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, but particularly of Mycroft and of you John. More than anyone, he wanted to erase you."

John was silent for a few seconds. "All of us are capable of giving birth to evil, but, all of us are capable of giving birth to good, as well." John shifted. "It's not the big and grand decisions that we make most of the time Sherlock, it's the day to day choices, most of them small and private, that are important. The small choices ultimately determine who we are. In the end Sherlock, when it matters, you make the right choices."

Sherlock's face became grim. "Not always John."

"Not always, but enough." John shrugged before grimacing. "Truth be told, you make the right choices more than most."

Sherlock looked intently at John for the first time since starting their conversation. "You really believe that about me." His voice held amazement.

John gave a small smile and shrugged. "Always."

Sherlock searched his eyes for a moment before looking away again.

"I'm… Um… Glad that you're in my life John." Sherlock was hesitant and slightly embarrassed. He was skilled at faking emotions for manipulation, but when spoken truthfully, he was not used to such sentimental words. His voice held a childlike sincerity.

John and Sherlock just stared at each other for a few minutes as both processed their conversation in their own way. Sherlock turned to look out the window again. John turned his eyes toward the streets as well, but his thoughts were still on Sherlock. He had come a long way emotionally. Based on his childhood and life, John knew that was not an easy task. He was proud of the younger man's courage.

Without looking, John cleared his throat. Those few vulnerable words; contained more raw emotions than he had ever witnessed from Sherlock. They still did not look at each other.

"I'm glad that you're in my life Sherlock. Very glad indeed, mate." After a brief hesitation, he put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and joined him as they stared out the window. He felt Sherlock's tension drain away slowly. They both stood side-by-side as witnesses, watching as humanity moved about the busy London streets.


	135. Chapter 135

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 135

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

"… Should a pawn get all the way across the board to reach the opponent's edge of the table, it will be promoted. The pawn may now become any piece that the moving player desires, except a king or pawn..."

… _The Promotion of the Pawn… Part I…_

* * *

**_"__True friends stab you in the front._"**

~ Oscar Wilde

* * *

_* References made to chapter 26_

_**Three Weeks Later**_

_**Current Day **_

_**Current Time**_

John pulled on his favorite wool jumper. He was still a little sore but had healed well. He popped one pain medication in his mouth, before he swallowed it down with a bottle of water. Mrs. Hudson had asked the boys to come to her flat for a _full English breakfast_. She said that she would make sausages, eggs, bacon, baked beans, mushrooms, and fried bread. His mouth started to water. He wondered if Mrs. Hudson had made any biscuits.

John heard raised voices. He suddenly knit his eyebrows together in question as he walked down the stairs. The smell of breakfast cooking normally would have made him smile. Now it was ignored along with his grumbling stomach. Sherlock and Mycroft were arguing, that was not new, but to hear Mycroft's voice was unusual. The older brother was normally as cool as a winter wind. What had Sherlock done? John rolled his eyes and quickened his pace.

"Sherlock, what would have happened if they had stripped you naked?"

"No Mycroft. I already know what you are going to say." Sherlock calmly sipped at his tea.

"Sherlock, think logically, I know the insertion might be slightly unpleasant but…"

"No," Sherlock said firmly. He took another sip of tea.

"Sherlock Holmes don't be a baby, the entire process will only take a few minutes." Mycroft was getting exasperated.

Sherlock took a sip of tea and put it to rest in its saucer. He appeared to be deep in thought. "I think you've reached me Mycroft. Give me a minute to think about it."

Sherlock inhaled and exhaled deeply before saying suddenly. "No, I was mistaken."

Mycroft took a deep breath and counted to ten. He noticed his growing irritation. No one, but his little brother could move him to such unpleasant things as emotions. He tried another approach.

"What happened to you being polite and cooperative," Mycroft was proud that his voice was even.

"The two weeks have past quite a while ago. Plain, lovable me is all you're getting big man." Sherlock took a sip of tea, "By the way, you've gained two pounds," Sherlock looked his brother up and down and said in a voice as smooth as silk. "No…, I was mistaken, it's three pounds, is it not, dear brother. Sneaking those teacakes in your office when the doors are closed again?"

"Sherlock Holmes!"

"No… No… No, to the bloody hell… No." Sherlock said calmly as he resumed sipping on his tea.

Mycroft's face was red as he stepped toward his brother. John put up his hand extended in front of Mycroft blocking Mycroft's way. John did not feel like getting bloodstains off the floor.

John looked at Mycroft. Mycroft nodded and backed away. John walked up to Sherlock and folded his hands in front of his stubborn friend. Sherlock rolled his eyes and chose to ignore him for a few minutes. As usual, Sherlock became irritated after a few minutes of the familiar game.

"John, your jaw is going to get locked into that position one of these days." Sherlock said, while trying to not sound uncomfortable.

"You're going to have it done Sherlock." John informed him calmly.

Sherlock snorted then took another sip of tea.

"This is me John. Do you really think that you can get me to do something that I do not want to do?" Sherlock sounded amused.

"No one can get you to do this, but I can." John said confidently.

"Well, good luck with that John." Sherlock poured himself more tea.

"Sherlock, let's not play this game. You are going to get the tracker inserted. It is only temporary. It is a little uncomfortable, but it goes away. It will be taken out as soon as possible."

"Now, why would I do that when I don't want to?" Sherlock asked as he poured a little cream. He used to not like cream.

"Because of me," John said evenly.

Sherlock frowned but said nothing as he added two lumps of sugar.

"Despite our best efforts, this is Moriarty, there is a possibility that you might be abducted. If that happens, we can activate the chip. Once the signal starts to come through, we will at least have an idea of the general area that you will be in." John took a breath. "You know this Sherlock."

Sherlock was quiet and had put his teacup back in the saucer. There was a look of displeasure on his face. He thinned his lips out. He took up his teacup but returned it to its saucer without drinking. He looked extremely irritated.

"I don't want to lose you." John sighed. "Not like this Sherlock, not without a fight."

Sherlock put the saucer on the table. His fingers were under his chin in the prayer position. His eyes closed.

John let him think for a few minutes.

"If my life depended on it would you do it Sherlock?"

"That is hitting below the belt, as they say, John." Sherlock said suddenly as he got up and started to take off his jacket. "Get it now before I change my mind."

Sherlock's face twisted with irritation. "That's a tender area that they have to insert it into. It's going to itch like the devil for four days."

"When you were missing, I had one put in. I did what I had to do Sherlock." Sherlock nodded at John.

An agent appeared with a medical shotgun in hand. Everyone knew to act quickly, before the younger Holmes could change his mind.

Sherlock now started to unbutton his shirt. John looked at Sherlock and the four agents that now crowded the room.

"Sherlock, don't you think that you should go into your bedroom or somewhere private?"

"John, we're flatmates. You've seen me with a lot less than a shirt before. It's only a shirt John." At first, John looked around hoping that no one would get the wrong idea, when something Sherlock said came to his mind.

"A shirt?" John asked confused.

"Yes John, it's not like I'm taking my pants off." Sherlock looked at him strangely. "It can be disabled with any direct blow if it is violent enough. There is only under the armpit and…" Sherlock cleared his throat and looked downwards.

"I would prefer not having it put there." Sherlock frowned.

"Under the arm?" John said absently.

"John, you seem to be repeating that a lot. You said you had one put in…" Sherlock stopped talking midsentence and looked at John. His eyes traveled down John's body then up again. He searched John's eyes. John turned a murderous glare toward Mycroft. Mycroft suddenly found the tip of his umbrella fascinating.

Sherlock looked suddenly entertained. He secretly wondered if Mycroft had any idea how good of a fighter, John was.

"Under the arm Mycroft. There was another option?"

"You never asked," Mycroft said innocently.

"Under the arm. Under The Arm! Under the bloody arm…" John muttered while marching away.

Sherlock was a little disappointed by John's restraint. He was at least hoping for one good punch.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock was slightly annoyed at Mycroft, but mostly amused.

"I was trying to discourage him from going on your rescue mission. I knew you would kill me if he got hurt."

Mycroft frowned. "You know, he's a lot tougher than he looks."

"He punches harder too." Sherlock said as he subconsciously rubbed his jaw from the memory.

Everyone in the area stopped and looked at the stairs when they heard a rather loud slam of a door.


	136. Chapter 136

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 136

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

"… Should a pawn get all the way across the board to reach the opponent's edge of the table, it will be promoted. The pawn may now become any piece that the moving player desires, except a king or pawn..."

… _The Promotion of the Pawn… Part I…_

* * *

"There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple minded." ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

She picked up her mobile and reported in. "Sir, there have been unusual movement here. I think we might have found Adler. I will need a few days to confirm. We followed a man and his wife with their child to her current location. They seem to be two of her employees. "What would you like me to do?"

_"Continue to monitor Adler. Her employees are of no consequence. Be certain that it is she. We have thought it was Adler before only to be proven wrong." The voice on the mobile said._

"Yes, Mr. Moran." The mobile line disconnected.

* * *

"Idiots," Sebastian Moran whispered as he rolled his eyes. He took another sip of wine. There was no point in telling Moriarty, Jim, he corrected his thoughts. He had to be sure. If it were she, she would not slip out of his hand again.

He would be the one to present her to Jim intact, more or less, that is. Sebastian smiled and laughed before taking another sip of wine. He raised his eyebrows.

It was good.

Jim would never miss one bottle of red wine. Jim never really drank anyway. He only sipped small amounts.

He glanced at the clock. It was time to call his little tart. He rang his mobile. He took another sip.

_"Hello love," Kitty Riley smiled at the voice of the one she believed to be her boyfriend._

"Hello love, I missed you," Moran tried to keep from being sick. Did the idiot really believe what he said?

_Riley tried to make her voice low and seductive. "Are you still coming around tonight?"_

"How could I resist you?" Moran replied with a low and lustful tone.

Riley giggled at his response.

Moran rolled his eyes again. He did manage to keep his voice low and sultry.

"First, you need to see Anderson. To carry out the plan of yours against, what was his name, Holmes wasn't it?"

_There was a moment of silence, "Maybe I was wrong. He has already been humiliated…"_

Moran did not let her finish. "You have to follow through. He has humiliated you; you humiliate him in retaliation. Robert Anderson does everything, he even thinks that the idea is his." Moran hesitated to give her time to think. "Do you still desire that job we spoke of? To make the move from unknown newspaper reporter to television broadcaster is almost unheard of. I have the connections to make it happen for you. But, an anchor has to have a strong and audacious personality. Was I wrong about you? Are you strong enough to do what is required. That's what real reporters do."

Moran sensed that she needed a little push. "You know Alice Wilkerson is competing for your position as well. I shouldn't even be involved with you on a personal level, but I see a fire in you, a hunger. Was I wrong?"

_Riley spoke quickly. her pride took over. "Alice Wilkerson, I'm a better reporter than her!"_

Moran was purposely silent. He smiled as he took another sip of wine.

_"It'll be done. I have Robert Anderson, wrapped around my finger." She waited for her lover to say something. He was silent again. His silence made her desperate.  
_

_"I'll see you later tonight? Anderson never takes long." She tried to joke._

"I'll see you later. Don't disappoint me." Moran's voice was suddenly cold.

_"Alright Lov…"_ The line was disconnected before Riley had finished speaking.

* * *

Riley hung up the mobile slowly. She had noticed a change in her boyfriend lately. She had a choice to make. She could follow that something inside her that was screaming that she was going in a direction that would lead to calamity. On the other hand, she could ignore it. So many people always ignore that voice.

She raised her chin defiantly and made a phone call.

"Robert. Yes, it's me. I want to see you. You promised that I could listen to it today." Riley laughed at what Robert Anderson had said.

He hoped her voice sounded interested not rushed. "I'm on my way Robert. Be naked." She disconnected the phone call as she hurried along.

* * *

Moran watched the hidden video camera in Riley's house. He smiled as he watched her obediently get dressed, and hurry along.

"Jim was correct, but then he was brilliant that way." Moran thought aloud, "There is no confusion like the confusion of the simple minded." Moran eyes darkened as he smiled.

* * *

A/N: More as soon as possible. Thank you for commenting.

Love to all, and stay safe.

** **Optional Fun Question**: For Benedict Cumberbatch fans. What is his middle name/ names?


	137. Chapter 137

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 137

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Thank you for your recent post**: Voldemort101 (More on the way Voldemort.), Prothoe (Thank you for your faithful multiple posts. Enjoy the peace… while you can.), Kitiara88 (Here is the next part. :) ), bruderlein ( Chapter 135, John has the patience of a saint.), Bookworm Gal (Warning, more Riley ahead. :[ ), HC ( Riley, Anderson, Moran; what will happen?), hjohn302 (Thank you for reviewing each new chapter. Is there more laughter or tears ahead?), gemstone1234 ( Will Sherlock be bored again, or wish that he was bored.), Benfan, (Thank you for the multiple post. Under the arm is better than… well… um. (Blush) ), T're Urvaw, (Thank you for your lovely comment T're.), goanago (Welcome, and thank you for your multiple post. Tea and cookies), Cumberbatch. Of. Derren. Brownies (Your brilliance shines through.), Nourss (Welcome. Have a rest and tea on me. In three days, that's amazing.)and Punky 2012 (I hope that you enjoyed the bitter sweet.) Finally, to all guests and PMs thanks.

**Thanks**, chocolate biscuits for you. Choose your flavor if you don't like chocolate. :)

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The answer to last week's _Fun Question_ was: Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch

******Congratulations! **Voldemort101, Kitiara88, borderline, HC, gemstone1234, Benfan, T're Urvaw, (I bow to your awesomeness!) ****

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

I have written three chapters so… Read all at once...or ...Read one chapter a day. The choice is yours. Make yourself happy. Another chapter by Monday the latest.

"… Should a pawn get all the way across the board to reach the opponent's edge of the table, it will be promoted. The pawn may now become any piece that the moving player desires, except a king or pawn..."

… _The Promotion of the Pawn… Part II…_

* * *

"_**May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house**_."

~George Carlin

* * *

_Refers to chapter 122_

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

She slowly walked around the open space. Everyone had been through triage. It was her job to determine the priority of the patients' treatments based on the severity of their condition and presenting symptoms. She would also help to administer medical care. She had just finished with the last of her patients, and charted their progress. She was officially off duty but she had stayed to help until all of the patients had undergone triage. The urgent patients were already in rooms or cubicles to be seen. One was taken straight to the surgical theater.

Nurse Abbey waved at a little girl who was sitting with her mother. Earlier, she had been given a pink surgical mask because she was coughing. The little girl leaned heavily on her Mum as she shyly waved back. There were only a few scattered, non-urgent patients here and there left.

Nurse Abbey now walked slowly to the back of the desk with the other staff. It was quiet now. She plopped herself tiredly in the chair.

Her friend smiled at her. "How are you?"

**"**Knackered. I thought that I would rest for a few minutes before I move; besides Peter said to wait here. He's on his way. We'll take the Tube home together." Abbey looked around and frowned. Everyone from her shift was still there, as well as a few persons from other units that she knew.

She puckered her brow. "It seems that no one wants to leave today."

Her friend chuckled. Abbey thought that it sounded slightly nervous. She quickly dismissed the thought; she was tired. Her imagination was probably getting the better of her. A couple in the back of the large room whispered a conversation. The quiet lull was familiar and soothing.

Her attention was turned to a delivery boy who walked up to one of the medical workers. She noticed that they pointed to her. She looked at the bouquet of roses. They were a mixture of varied shades of yellow, her favorite color. They were exquisite.

Peter, she thought. A smile lit her face.

She took the flower and blushed when she noticed the smiles and curious stares that looked her way.

She now noticed two things, the flowers were in an expensive looking vase, and a small box was also given to her. She thought about the fact that they could not afford the vase, but what was done was done. She smiled. It was pretty.

"Are you gonna open it?" Her friend asked exasperated.

"Oh," She said as the blush returned. She unwrapped the package and stopped. Her friend did not try to hide the fact that she was curious; she stretched her body while still seated in hopes of a better view.

Abbey stopped confused. She reached inside the box and frowned. She picked up a new Smartphone. It was a much better model than her old one. She wondered about the mobile when it rang.

Abbey frowned.

"Is everything okay?" Her friend asked suddenly concerned.

"Oh. Yes. I'll pop off for just a minute." Abbey ignored several stares as she walked far enough away to have a private conversation.

"Hello," Abbey said cautiously.

"_I owed you a phone. I hope that you don't mind. I upgraded the model. You will not need to make a payment for the next twelve months. A yellow phone cover will arrive in a week." A deep baritone voice was on the other phone line_.

Abbey's voice was annoyed. "Mr. Smith, doing better, or can I use your real name Mr. Holmes. I do watch the telly you know."

_An amused voice answered. "Sherlock is fine."_

The annoyance left Abbey's voice, amusement took its place. She whispered conspiratorially. "Need some advice on something medical, or is this more personal? Are you in a mood to send me to sleep again? Should I be alarmed, is there someone running around with a syringe who is ready to drug me?"

_Sherlock hesitated slightly. "That was regrettable but necessary. I hope that there are no lasting effects, physical or otherwise."_

Abbey snorted openly. "The only thing traumatic was my snoring. I took a nap. You know, you could have just asked. I can act. I'll have you know that I was Joan of Arc in primary school two years in a row."

"_If only I had known." His voice sounded amused._

Abbey voice took on a serious tone. "I think that I can forgive you, the beautiful flowers helped. Especially since you save my life, and the life of everyone in that hospital."

_"Not quite everyone I'm afraid." _

Abbey frowned as her fingers pushed a stray piece of hair behind her ears. "Someone explained to me what happened. It was…" She searched for a word, but there was none. "… difficult. There are many people who owe you their life, including myself. Thank you."

There was a moment of comfortable silence.

"_Well, I'd better be off." _

Abbey smiled. "Take care of yourself."

"_I'll make an attempt." There was a brief pause. "By the way, congratulations."_

The mobile line disconnected before Abbey could ask what he meant. She exhaled and smiled. "Well."

She turned around and walked toward the desk. She saw a medical worker point in her direction. She was certainly popular today, she thought. She looked curiously, as she walked toward the woman.

"Can I help you?" Abbey asked as she extended her arm.

A false smile came into place. "Kitty Riley from the _Star_."

"The _Star? _How can I help you_?" _Abbey could not keep the confusion out of her voice.

"Just a few quick questions. There is unconfirmed reports that you were physically assaulted by one, Sherlock Holmes. There are reports that he might have gone as far as drugging you." Riley took a step closer so that only Abbey could hear. "If this turns out to be true. There is a substantial… monetary fee that we would pay for the trouble of telling us your story." Riley tried to put on a compassionate look. "In these hard times, I'm sure that the extra money would come in handy." Riley paused for a moment. "All you have to do is confirm."

"Do I understand you right? All I have to do is say that he attacked me and I get the money?" Abbey whispered.

"Yes, that's all." Riley looked hopefully at the young nurse.

"I'm ready to make a statement then." Abbey said with a smile. She noticed her friend and several colleagues quickly coming her way. She also noticed Peter entering the building out of the corner of her eyes.

"Do you mind if I record this," Riley could not keep the smile from her face.

Abbey's friend and several colleagues now stood close. "Is everything alright?" Her friend asked. Peter was walking toward the small group.

"Would you like us to go somewhere more private?" Riley asked.

Abbey smiled. "No, this will only take a minute. Besides, I want everyone to hear."

Riley smile widened as she clicked on the digital recorder. "Whenever you're ready."

"Yes I did have contact with Mr. Holmes during the hostage situation. I willingly assisted him. He saved my life and the life of everyone that was in this hospital on that day. He's a hero."

"What's going on here?" Peter asked Abbey with a questioning look.

"Nothing love," She then looked at Riley. "I look forward to reading my comments tomorrow, in the Star." She then walked away without another word.

Riley clicked off the digital recorder. She had a look of displeasure on her face. She turned around, and then walked to a private corner. "It's me. She is not willing to say anything incriminating about him. She even refused the money."

Riley face turned sour as she listened to the other line. "I can do this."

A sudden commotion behind her grabbed the newspaper reporter's attention. She turned her face to look at the group of cheering medical workers.

Peter was on one knee. He was placing a diamond ring on the finger of a crying Nurse Abbey. The cheers began again along with wishes of congratulations. The happy couple kissed. Helium balloons that said 'Congratulations' materialized, several medical workers held them. Even some of the patients were smiling or clapping their hands.

Riley grounded her teeth together in irritation, her eyes flashed in anger. She suddenly became still. "I have an idea," she said to the person on the other mobile line, as she rapidly walked toward the exit.


	138. Chapter 138

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 138

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

"… Should a pawn get all the way across the board to reach the opponent's edge of the table, it will be promoted. The pawn may now become any piece that the moving player desires, except a king or pawn..."

… _The Promotion of the Pawn… Part II…_

* * *

"_**To be **__**normal**__** is the ideal aim of the unsuccessful.**_"~ Carl Gustav Jung

* * *

_****__**Five Weeks Later**_

_**Current day**_

_**Current Time**_

Eyes turned toward the tall figure as he entered the room. Most eyes discreetly glanced at the Consultant Detective. A few, however, looked openly. The newly laundered black Belstaff wool coat complimented the slender frame. A slight swishing sound followed close behind, as the back pleats of the opened coat danced left then right. His collar was turned up. His hands were deeply tucked into the generous side pockets. A black container was held firmly, trapped under one arm.

John glanced at Sherlock. The outward bruises, cuts, and scrapes had healed on his friend, on them both. However, he knew Sherlock well enough to know that something was bothering him. In a sense, some shadow washed over his face. They had spent the last six weeks, with a combination of healing, and helping Mycroft. The goal was to try to decipher what message Sherlock left for his brother, in the event of his death, or incapacitation. This was made more difficult because this was an area, in which, the younger Holmes was still experiencing memory lost. This was the first time that he was called to The Yard since the last run in with Moriarty.

They walked around a corner as they walked toward Lestrade's office. John kept step with Sherlock, despite Sherlock's longer legs. He purposely kept the frown from his face as he noticed the tension that seemed to coil increasingly in his friend's spine.

They had been called in to assist on a case of a bride who disappeared on her wedding night. They continued at a steady pace, until they reach the open area that was just before Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade's private office.

As before, several pairs of eyes glanced at the Consultant Detective and a few eyes followed their movements. Sherlock glanced with a confused look at John. Holmes quickly masked his features but this caused John, who had been a step behind since rounding the corner, to double his steps and come along beside him.

Sherlock whispered just beneath his breath, "Why are they looking at me like that. John, what are they doing."

With some confusion, John glanced around. "Oh, it's called smiling Sherlock."

"Why are they s.m.i.l.i.n.g?" Sherlock said the word as if he was not used to saying it and had to work out his jaw muscles.

"They're glad that you're okay...we're okay. You're a hero Sherlock." John glanced at his friend's face. "But don't worry, when you open your mouth, the smiling will stop."

Sherlock's face relaxed. "Good. It's disconcerting!"

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Someone's feeling better," John muttered to himself.

"Did you say something John?" Sherlock asked distractedly. John just looked but did not answer. They were at Lestrade's office door. Sherlock held out the small, black container and gave it to his roommate.

John opened the door for Sherlock and said with a false smile. "After you." John wordlessly took the box into his arms, and pulled the door open. "I wouldn't want 'The Laudable Londoner' to fall so low, that he would have to open a door for himself."

Sherlock mouth thinned, he huffed as he walked through the door. John's smile became real. He knew how much Sherlock hated the ridiculous names that the media was always giving him. John preferred the 'Modest Marvel' personally.

The noise in the room hushed as the two men entered. John wordlessly walked up next to Lestrade's desk, and place the black container on it, before sitting next to Sherlock. A young looking Constable smiled at the two before he took the document from Lestrade's hand, and exited.

John returned the smile. Sherlock looked annoyed.

Holmes had already taken a seat and was unusually quiet as he scanned the room. His eyes stopped as it fell upon a chair. His gaze then shifted to the coat rack. It lingered there for a few seconds before moving on to Lestrade.

Lestrade looked at Holmes silently. He then looked at John with questioning eyes.

John smiled. "Oh, it's from Mrs. Hudson. It's the chocolate biscuits that she promised you."

A smile came on Lestrade's face as he licked his lips. "I'll thank her later."

Lestrade's face became solemn. "This morning, I was contacted by a Mr. Lord Simon. He says that his bride went missing soon after the ceremony."

John leaned forward interested. "I read about it in the newspapers this morning. He himself has some position in the government. Isn't he an aristocrat?"

Lestrade interrupted. "One of the highest in England mates. His father is the Duke of Balmoral? I believe that he is an Earl, or something." Lestrade's eyebrows raised. "That's not all gentlemen, what the newspapers forgot to mention was that, his father's bloodline goes all the way back to the Plantagenets, and the mother's side, to the Tudors."

"His father is the Secretary of Foreign Affairs." Lestrade lips raised, "He reminded me when he came in. He thought it was important that I was aware of his greatness."

John raised his eyebrows. "He's that Simon?"

"He's that Simon." Lestrade telephone rang. He gave an apologetic stare as he picked it up.

"Yes." The DI was silent as he listened for a moment. He asked a few questions then disconnected.

Greg looked solemn. "As we've discussed earlier this morning, we suspect the worst. This might soon turn into a murder investigation, not a missing person. While you were on your way here, a wedding gown was found in the Thames. Forensics have not yet confirmed that wedding gown belonged to the bride." Greg sighed. "I got a call from high up early this morning. This case is to be given the highest priority." Lestrade looked at both men apologetically. "I'm sorry. I know that you've both been taken time off after… You know," Lestrade gestured with one hand, "but I need your expertise on this…"

A click interrupted Greg's words. John looked to his left. He saw a short, slightly round middle-aged man. He had red colored hair, freckled skin, and the greenest eyes that John had ever seen. John wondered to himself if he wore contacts.

Mr. Simon walked in with an air of importance. He quickly crossed the room. He remained still as he waited expectantly.

John raised himself and shook his hand as he exchanged the normal greetings. Lestrade stood as well; he was not sure why, except that he felt he should. Everyone looked at Sherlock. Except for saying 'good day,' he remained seated.

John considered Sherlock as he sat. He was not normally purposefully impolite, unless he felt that it was deserved. Most of his social lapses were because he was busy with more important things, such as thinking, or breathing. Sherlock seemed a little 'off' today. John did consider the fact that he might be seeing ghosts that were not there.

Mr. Simon gracefully lowered his slightly large girth into the chair closest to Lestrade. After prompting from the Detective Inspector, Mr. Simon told of his marriage to an American heiress named Harriet Doran. She was called Hatty to all who knew her. They were wed at St. George's Church in Hanover Square the day before. There were only a few family, and friends there. She seemed happy and content during the wedding. At the dinner following the wedding, her mood suddenly changed. She excused herself. Some of the guest thought that she appeared distracted, maybe even irritated. She was discovered to be missing soon after.

Sherlock only asked a few specific questions. He then pulled out his mobile and searched the internet quietly. A slight smirk flashed across his face, but then was gone. He put his mobile in his lap as he continued to listen to the men talk.

Sherlock's attention shifted. John noticed him as he glanced at his mobile. His friend's body seemed to stiffen then it was gone. John wondered if he had imagined it.

Lestrade, and Simon were talking. They stopped as Sherlock stood abruptly. Simon frowned. He appeared a little put off. John followed Sherlock with his eyes.

"Excuse me. Carry on, I'll be right back." Sherlock gave one of his fake apologetic smiles.

Sherlock walked toward the door. John stood up after giving an excuse and followed him.

John had to quicken his pace as he tried not to draw attention to himself. He sighed with relief when he noticed that everyone had gone back to their usual behavior. Except for a few glances, they were being ignored.

John entered the stairwell and hissed. "Sherlock." He took the stairs quickly and put his hand on Sherlock from behind. Sherlock flinched slightly, but tried to cover it.

Both men stopped walking. John looked about and spoke in a quiet voice when he did not notice anyone around. "Where are you off to? Who text you? Don't say no one, I saw you glance at your mobile."

"The loo. The tea has run right through me?" Sherlock put a hand on his stomach for effect.

John thinned his lips and folded his arms. "Cut the crap."

"There is no crap to cut, as you so elegantly put it." Sherlock smiled falsely as he leaned toward John.

John leaned close to Sherlock's face and said with sugary sweetness. "Would you prefer, cut the shite? You're distracted. You've passed up two opportunities to insult two of the Yarders. You jumped when I touched you, yes I did notice! And you still didn't tell me who text you."

"You've passed a loo. You, Sherlock Holmes, is up to something." John face became concerned. "Is it Moriarty? Tell me… No… Promise me you're not about to run right into his trap again."

Sherlock put a hand on John's shoulder. John turned and looked at Sherlock's hand. "I admit that I have a lot on my mind. Moriarty is one. Nevertheless, I am not going to leave this building. I am going to the loo, and I would like to get there so that I can get back." He looked toward the door. "One of us should get back to Simon. Write down what you consider important, you know that you won't remember exactly. I especially want to know if he stutters or tries to smoke a cigarette. You know my methods."

John searched his eyes for a few seconds. He wondered if he had overreacted. He suddenly felt foolish. "Right. Well." He turned to leave, but a squeeze on his shoulder stopped him.

Sherlock smiled and looked at John. They wrote a paragraph in a glance. John saw no anger, mock, or judgement in the eyes of his friend, only gratitude and acceptance. John did not feel foolish any longer. He smiled. "Hurry up. I'm in danger of being overwhelmed by his importance. I might be tempted to kiss his hand, or bow, or something."

Sherlock turned away and resumed walking. John turned in the opposite direction and walked upward. Each step took the two friends further apart.

Sherlock voice floated upward. "I think Lestrade is in more danger than you are." Before the door closed, John heard the soft tapping sounds of Sherlock's shoes, as it met the hard surface of the stairs.

He continued to descend.


	139. Chapter 139

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 139

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Warning*******.*** **T rated** ****. ******Mild violence**

I have written a few chapters so… Read all at once...or ...Read one chapter a day. The choice is yours. Make yourself happy. Another chapter Monday.

"… Should a pawn get all the way across the board to reach the opponent's edge of the table, it will be promoted. The pawn may now become any piece that the moving player desires, except a king or pawn..."

… _The Promotion of the Pawn… Part II…_

* * *

**"Boredom is the deadliest poison." William F. Buckley, JR., Milestones**

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Two agents had driven Miranda to her villa. Thomas had volunteered to stay late, grade the exams, and take the exams to the mailroom, so that the scores could be inputted into the University computer system. This was done so that Miranda could spend time with William before he was put to bed. Adler was off with two agents as an escort. She was meeting with a contact so that she could provide Mycroft with some critical information. Myers was off to America, after a quick trip to England to see Doctor Watson. He was doing important things as well. He was grading exams.

Agent Blake Thomas smiled to himself as he gathered the last of his papers and put them in his briefcase. His long limbs cracked slightly, as he stood then stretched his arms toward the ceiling. He glanced at his watch as he slowly made his way toward the mailroom. The passageways were darkened because of the late hour. His eyes quickly adjusted. Within several minutes, he entered the cubicle filled room. The university was abandoned because of the late hours. Most of the students were back in their rooms asleep, or huddled in scattered study groups, desperately trying to prepare for the next day.

Blake looked for the cubicle with the appropriate department title. He looked down to attach the correct requisition forms to the stack of exams, when he had the sensation of a threat behind him. He had the sensed that a hand was coming toward him. Agent Thomas' training kicked in. Within a second, he had maneuvered his body so that a body firmly pressed against the wall. One arm was pinned so firmly that if the person moved, the arm would break.

A frightened gasp escaped.

Agent Blake Thomas, or as he was known at the University, Blake Smith, instantly loosened his grip. "Abigail? Dear God, are you alright."

Abigail gave a nervous laugh as she waved off his concerns.

Thomas gently took her arm in his hands as he examined it. Abigail had been employed by the University for a little over three weeks. She had taken the place of a graduate student assistant that had suddenly become ill.

Blake frowned.

He usually had good instincts. He was unsure why he had reacted so strongly.

"It's nothing," she reassured him again. "I had no mother, but I did have four huge brothers, I was the only girl. I can take a little rough handling. By the time I left for Uni, they all had a healthy respect for me." She pulled her arm away. She put a hand on his muscular arms and squeezed gently. "I won't break." She whispered with a disarming smile.

Thomas found himself grinning back without even realizing that he was smiling.

After a moment, he asked. "Why are you here so late?"

"Same as you." Her eyes traveled to the floor. Thomas followed it and saw the exam papers. He picked them up. When he gave it to her, she did not hide the fact that she appreciated his fit body.

Abigail had been very open about her attraction to him since she first arrived. It was not that she was not attractive. It was against protocol to get personally involved while on assignment. It was also his private opinion that it was a bad idea. Thomas had never broken protocol once. Despite this, they locked eyes a little longer than was necessary.

Thomas decided that it was wise to leave. "Well, if you're sure that you're uninjured, I'd better be off."

A voice floated from behind. "I'm not sure how to do this. I grew up around a house filled with men. I might not be feminine or have enough female tack, but I like you Blake."

Thomas stopped and turned toward her. He glanced over her. She had waist long, naturally curly hair. Her build was athletic and she had impossibly long, toned legs. She wore a knit sweater and slightly too short skirt and flat shoes. Despite what she thought of herself, in Thomas' opinion, she was definitely getting the feminine part right. He considered the fact that she looked, cute. He quickly dismissed the idea.

"It's not you," he smiled before he turned to leave again. He took a few steps before he heard a voice.

"You're bored." Abigail said as a matter of fact.

Thomas eyes narrowed as he turned slowly. He just looked at her oddly.

She came close and put one hand on his wrist. "I recognized the look. I saw it on my brothers' faces more than a few times." She looked in his eyes and smiled. "I can help."

He looked back as he said. "How?"

Her smile widened as she raised an eyebrow. Her hand reached behind him and there was a click sound. The room suddenly became dark. There was only a dim safety light in the far corner. Warm breath tickled his face as his head was pulled down. He felt the sensation of soft lips on his own. He heard a contented sigh in his ears. Thomas' hand reached blindly to his right.

The door closed.

* * *

"_**The soul that has conceived one wickedness can nurse no good thereafter."**_ SOPHOCLES, _Philoctetes_

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He reached out and pushed open the door. Even his fingers were tense as he held the door open for a few seconds as his eyes scanned the dim room for threats, and dangers. He glanced up at the light fixtures. Two were out. Only one in the far corner of the long but narrow room was lit.

Almost no one came down here. Many did not even know of its existence. Most of _The New Scotland Yard_, was located in the more modern areas. Holmes had taken a tunnel that connected to the older building. This building had many modern renovations done to most of the floors, except this one. The basement level held nothing urgent. There were antiquated dim passageways that one could become lost in. There was one unattended room that only the Detective Inspectors or above had access to. They contain Homicides forty-one years, or older. They were the ones that had the unofficial title of, unsolvable. Even Lestrade would venture down to, 'The Pit,' at his own pain, when he was truly desperate and Sherlock was balmy, bored, and about to drive everyone to suicide, or plot murder.

His murder.

Sherlock feet stepped cautiously. He walked further into the neglected space. He looked under the loo stalls. He saw no one's feet. It was empty as expected. A hissing electrical sound buzzed quietly, as the only working light alternated between dimming, becoming suddenly bright, then flickering off and back on again.

Sherlock noticed his own breathing and frowned. When he was halfway to the flickering lights. He heard the sound of footsteps and the click of a door.

"You took your time." A voice traveled behind him. It sounded like a snake.

Holmes turned around but said nothing. He watched the man as his face emerged from the darkness and shadows played across his features.

Sherlock eyes traveled to the locked door.

Robert Anderson followed Holmes eyes; and he smiled. "I wouldn't want us to be interrupted."

Sherlock tensed as Anderson walked closer. The shadows on Anderson's face suddenly disappeared as the light brightened in illumination. There was a crescendo of buzzing electrical sound; it diminished taking its light with it.

"I see you're trying to perfect your evil villain persona. How's it coming along, then?" Sherlock made his face blank of emotion.

Anderson raised an eyebrow. Despite Holmes bravado, he noticed an uncharacteristic tremor to the Consultants Detective's voice. This increased Anderson's confidence tremendously. "That mouth is usually full of those posh words of yours. Maybe we can find something else to fill it." The leer was unmistakable.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and said in an annoyed tone. "I'm busy, and you're boring. You summoned me here; get to the point. With lines like that, it's no wonder that Donovan found you tedious and left you. Good for her." Sherlock had a contemplative look on his face. "I suppose there was the matter of you being married. How many children do you have?" He now looked at Anderson, "Do you think that Sally knew about your other lover, I mean lovers?"

Anderson let out a growl. He moved faster than Sherlock would have thought him capable. Sherlock's face was slammed against a wall. One hand had been twisted behind his back. Anderson was pressed against Holmes. He spoke in breathy angry burst. His face was red; spit flew out of his mouth and landed on Holmes neck.

"You don't get to say her name, ever. She's mine." Anderson took pleasure in twisting his wrist more. Sherlock bit his lip and grimaced, but he refused to say a word. "A bloody FREAK like you wouldn't understand true love." He hissed. He twisted Sherlock's wrist more. Sherlock gasped as he felt the bones in his wrist being pulled to the limit. Hearing Sherlock's gasp of pain first excited then calmed the Yarder.

Holmes bloodhound like nose picked up the faint scent of alcohol. Sherlock fought to retain control. His mind categorized different points of Anderson's body that he could strike. A shift of his leg here - an elbow to his ribs - then a palm to his nose. It took all of his will not to follow through. His body shook from the effort not to strike back. He did not try to control it. He allowed his body to shake.

"A bit violent lately." Sherlock was careful to keep his voice level.

Anderson kept a dangerous smile on his face. He put his face next to Sherlock and whispered in his ear. "You should know." He took pleasure in the fact that Holmes body stiffened. He added with a hiss. "You stay away from Donovan. She belongs to me. If you try to get… near her in any way. I will kill you. I have friends now. That was not an idle threat."

"Before you kill me, would you please have another breath mint? Just one is not working." Sherlock could not seem to stop himself from fighting back in some way.

Anderson violently hit him in the back, to the side, twice. Sherlock instinctively tried to double over from the pain, but could not. Anderson pressed against him, keeping him in place. It took a few minutes before the pain ebbed enough for him to be able to speak.

"How do I know that you can do what you say?" Sherlock looked at the wall.

"That shiver in your body, and stiffness in your spine, tells you that I am telling the truth." Anderson smiled. "You're always deducing people. Deduce me… freak."

Holmes did not hide the frown on his face. He slowly turned toward Anderson. He looked in his face for a few seconds before looking away and saying, "What are you asking me to do?"

"Lestrade will call me in soon on the Simon case. He will need to know about the forensic evidence. I have to give a report, he will ask me for my opinion. He will then ask you for your opinion. On every case of mine that you consult, either you contradict me, or you add something that I have, shall we say, overlooked." Anderson paused. "Since we're mates now, you will assist me. I'll give you a ring whenever I need you."

"And if I decline to…assist you?" Holmes asked simply.

Anderson's voice was low and menacing. He was enjoying telling the pompous freak what to do, moreover, having the confidence to know that Holmes had no choice, but to listen. "I've already told you in detail what I would do."

Anderson suddenly let go. Since Holmes body was kept slightly off balance, he had to adjust his body so that he would not fall. He stretched his wrist and fingers. Sherlock's face appeared emotionless. John would have seen through his mask.

Holmes fixed his eyes just left of Anderson's face. "I'll need my mobile."

For the first time, Anderson looked unsure.

"I have… people… who are investigating leads for me." Holmes explained with impatience in his voice.

Anderson nodded.

Holmes text back and forth for several minutes. Anderson took out a small flask and took a sip. He then sprayed breath mint into his mouth. His eyes never left Holmes.

Sherlock glanced at the alcohol flask, then at him. Anderson winked. He then smiled as he held out the flask toward the Consultant Detective. Sherlock ignored him; his eyes dropped back down to his mobile as he continued to text.

Anderson started to grow impatient.

Holmes finished his text then opened his mouth and started to tell Anderson in an impassive voice about the Simon case. Anderson asked a few questions. Holmes answered.

Both Anderson and Holmes' mobile buzzed. Lestrade was ready for the team to gather. Sherlock started to walk out the door when Anderson's hand, firmly grabbed his sore wrist. Anderson was enjoying the power that he had over Holmes.

"I'm sure that you know that you should keep this quiet, don't you." Anderson chuckled. "But then if you were going to tell anyone, you would have already, wouldn't you now." Anderson's hand came up to caress Holmes cheek, but Sherlock jerked away. His eyes narrowed in warning, as he looked at Anderson for the first time in minutes. Anderson looked unsure for a moment, but then he relaxed into his new found confidence.

Anderson stepped aside. "We could take the lift up together." His voice deepened. "I do enjoy our alone time."

Sherlock eyed him warily until he was safely to the door. "To avoid suspicion, it would be better if you waited a few minutes before coming up." Sherlock was finally far enough away from Anderson to turn toward the door.

Anderson's voice floated from behind. "You belong to me now. Mind – Soul," there was a pause, "and Body."

Sherlock forced himself not to look back. "Better men than you have said those exact words to me. They were wrong. So are you." Sherlock received another text. He picked up his mobile and sent a text as he walked. His pace was quickened. He did not want John to worry.

Anderson frowned slightly as he watched Holmes hastily make his way to the staircase, and then disappear.

Anderson pushed any doubt away as a smile lit his face.

He was starting to enjoy himself now that the annoying voice on the inside, which was always telling him that he was doing wrong, was silenced. He quickly moved over to his briefcase, and opened it. He took out his laptop. His long fingers rapidly moved across the keys as he amended his report. He quickly closed the laptop and returned it to his briefcase. He would need to find a printer. He jogged through the tunnel. Within minutes, he was at the lift.

Almost immediately, the lift opened. Anderson's smiled broadened as he stepped inside the lift. He hummed as he pushed the numbered key. Enjoyable thoughts filled his mind. Everyone would finally appreciate his brilliance. Things would go back to the way they were before Holmes came along. Only two things were left. Completing Holmes humiliation, and winning Sally Donovan back.

Things were finally looking up for him.

Anderson's smile broadened. Even better, things were finally looking down for the freak.

The doors to the lift closed.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Love and peace. Thank you all for reading. Stay safe.

** **Optional Fun Question**:

I have made a strong reference to canon. Which Sherlock Holmes story did I use bits, and parts of? Extra credit if you repeat one of the book character names.

Have fun. :)


	140. Chapter 140

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 140

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Thank you for your recent post:** Nourss ( thank you for your comments.), cim902 (More twist and turns ahead), Rouge Singe (The next chapter. **Congratulations on the most canon characters named.), HC, (I need to form a, _Everyone Hates Anderson Club_. I hope that you are well.), Bookworm Gal (More, I hope that you like.), bruderlein (If _The Noble Bachelor_ is the second episode, what is three?), e la mucca salto sulla luna (More turns plus one or two twist ahead), Puky2012 (Thank you for reviewing more than once. More antics of 'The Laudable Londoner.'), socalrose (Thank you for posting for each chapter read. Take a deep breath.), goanago (Thank you for the multiple post. You are almost caught up.) Prothoe(Thank you for multiple reviews. You are not the only one who wants to choke Kitty Riley), Benfan ( Thanks for the multiple post. The, I hate Kitty Riley club seems to be growing.) Guest. (You are correct. Your brilliance shines.) and to all guests and PM, thanks.

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*The answer to last week's _Fun Question_ was The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor

**Congratulations!** (A * is given for each character name that is mentioned) **cim902, *** Rouge Singe, **HC, **bruderlein, and Puky2012 (Very good!)

Congratulations to Guest. Chapter 102. Rat, Wedding, and Bow are correct. (It is never too late to answer) :)

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

Here is a something until I can update again. Update and post as soon as possible. Lots of Love.

_Note: mon amie__ means my friend_

"… Should a pawn get all the way across the board to reach the opponent's edge of the table, it will be promoted. The pawn may now become any piece that the moving player desires, except a king or pawn..."

… _The Promotion of the Pawn… Part III…_

* * *

**_"When a friend is in trouble, don't annoy him by asking if there is anything you can do. Think up something appropriate and do it_**."

~ Edgar Watson Howe

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time  
**_

Mrs. Hudson stopped on the step that led into 221B. She paused unsure if she should carry on. There was yelling. It continued for about fifteen minutes. It was John. That happened from time-to-time. She ignored it at first. She assumed that Sherlock had put another head in the refrigerator, or used the last of the milk for an experiment. She did love the young man like her own son, but he could be trying.

A few minutes later, Sherlock's voice rose loud enough to be heard.

That was unusual.

Sherlock was normally oblivious to why John was angry, or he would ignore John's 'emotional outburst,' as he called them. Whatever they were arguing about seemed to be serious.

She decided to go in. They would stop arguing when she walked in. It usually gave them time to both 'cool off.' All would be forgiven, and they would be back to their usual self soon after.

"Yoo Hoo," Mrs. Hudson said as she walked into the flat. Something unusual happened. Her boys kept arguing.

"Would you at least admit that something is wrong!" John yelled.

Mrs. Hudson glanced from John to Sherlock. "Now boys."

"John is the one who is in a snit. I am simply trying to read." Sherlock glared at John as he spoke. John glared back.

John looked at Mrs. Hudson but his anger was directed at Sherlock. "It's because he's talking a lot, but saying nothing. He's hiding something."

"Something is going on Sherlock. You can't hide it from me. I am not paranoid and I am not imagining things." John burned with anger and frustration as he stood above Sherlock's chair. "I am not an idiot."

Sherlock appeared to be reading newspapers. A stack of them, several, in fact, were scattered around the flat, and on the floor surrounding his chair. His knuckles had a death grip on the newspaper he was currently holding.

"Are you quite sure about your last statement John." Sherlock wasn't quite shouting but his voice was raised and his face was beginning to have a red hue to it.

John folded his arms. "I know what you're trying to do. You taught me, remember? You're not going to distract me with your insults Sherlock."

Sherlock thinned his lips together and dropped the newspaper to the floor. He then folded his arms defiantly.

Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes at both of their stubbornness. She sighed and waited. There was a few minutes of tense silence.

Sherlock worried his lower lip as the anger faded. "John, I have it all under control."

"Rubbish!" John's voice was getting loud again.

"I've said all I'm going to say on the subject." Sherlock closed his eyes and put his hands in the prayer position.

Mrs. Hudson saw a shift in John's eyes, and determination come to his face.

John looked at him quietly for a few minutes. His voice suddenly became quiet. "Last chance Sherlock."

Sherlock said nothing, but frowned.

John sighed. "You've forced me into this." He looked at the door, then started to move.

"John?" Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at his friend.

John did not answer.

He marched over to his jacket and put it on. He moved in quick angry jerks. Mrs. Hudson looked from John, to Sherlock, back to John again. She put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder before walking over to John. She said nothing but her eyes held a question.

He slowed his movements and looked at Mrs. Hudson."I'll be back within two hours. Keep an eye on him." The second part was said in a whisper. He noticed that Sherlock's frowned deepened.

Within minutes, John disappeared out the door. A soft slam sounded.

Mrs. Hudson exhaled a breath as she walked back over to Sherlock .

"Hows bout a nice cuppa love." She said soothingly. She did not wait for an answer but walked toward the kettle.

Sherlock's voice stopped her. "Mrs. Hudson, you came in to tell me something."

"Right," She paused her step and turned. "Someone called to tell you that there was going to be a press conference today and he expected you there. It didn't sound like Greg. I am not sure how he got my number…"

Sherlock glanced at his mobile as Mrs. Hudson prattled on. He had silenced it. He had been so involved in the _discussion_ with John, he had forgotten.

"Stupid. Distracted." Sherlock whispered to himself.

Mrs. Hudson fell into a familiar pattern as she prepared tea, and sandwiches. She talked continually as she prepared the light meal.

Mrs. Hudson walked toward the refrigerator hoping that she would not see a dead human head in it. She continued to talk as she decided what was safe and what was poisonous. She did not notice that she was speaking to an empty room.

Sherlock, was gone.

* * *

_*References to chapter 114_

_**Present Day**_

_****__**One Hour Earlier**_

_**Moscow, Russia**_

The Les Menus Restaurant in Russia was well reviewed. The inside was made up of half rounded leather bench seats, with scattered decorative pillows. The tables and trim of the leather chairs, were all made from deep, dark rich wood. Crystal glasses and fine china were set on the tables. An elegant large crystal-ceiling chandelier, added a soft glow to the illumination. Identical floor lamps, scattered throughout the room, added a classic and unique detailed touch to the room.

Pierre Godenot walked up to Adler, he gave her a kiss on both cheeks. His thick French accent greeted her. They knew her by one of her aliases. He was a world renowned, Three-star chef. His larger girth did not keep him from moving about quickly. He kept a smile on his face.

He looked down fondly at her. "I have not seen you for some time."

"Business has kept me away," she said with regret.

Pierre raised an eyebrow in understanding. "What will you have tonight madam."

Adler gave a disarming smile. "Surprise me, whatever you choose, I am sure that it will be innovative, artistic, and a feast for all the senses."

Pierre stood up straight and pushed his chest out in pride. "I will not disappoint, _mon amie__." _Adler thanked him. He was gone with a slight nod of his head.

She exhaled quietly. Her back was to the wall. She was in the dimmest, and the most secluded corner of the building. That was not an accident. She made sure that she could see out of the windows; and could see who was coming in the door. The old familiar habits that Sherlock had taught her, came back easily. She thought of Sherlock, and John. She was relieved that they were both recovered. She thought of her William.

She sat crossed legged in the restaurant. Her hand smoothed down the thick fabric of her dress. She glanced out the windows at the light crowd of people who walked back, and forth at a leisurely pace. She glanced at the two agents that followed her. One was male, the other female. They sat in opposite corners of the room. She preferred Agent Myers, but the agent was off to the states on an assignment by Mycroft.

She saw what appeared to be a man, his wife, and three children walking by as the youngest smiled and gestured animatedly. He was apparently excited about something.

She smiled.

She wondered if she, if they, would ever have anything that would be considered normal. She wondered if she would want normal.

Her text alert sounded and she text back quickly. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Sherlock seemed to assume that she was prone to trouble. Even when Sherlock was supposed to have, memory lost, he would have one of the agents check on her. He seemed to know when she managed to elude one of Mycroft's men. In that event, a text would appear from Sherlock himself. His text had slowly gotten more frequent. It occurred every day now. It was almost as if his heart remembered what his mind could not. That's how she knew when he was in trouble, there was no text.

She could almost pretend that it was as it was before… She did not want to finish the thought. It did her no good to dwell in a past that did not exist any longer.

The corner of her eyes caught movement. Her face became impassive, she was instantly business. A tall man in his sixties walked in. He was Russian. He wore a patterned suit with a crew neck sweater underneath. His dark strands had a moderate amount of gray scattered in. His thin hair receded and was combed backwards. However, he had a full, thick mustache. They did not use each other's names. After a brief greeting, they both sat down.

Adler allowed the food to be ordered. In her experience, information flowed more freely on a full stomach. The meal was finished and the wine was flowing. Adler, out of politeness, held the wineglass in her hand to give the appearance of drinking. She would take occasional small sips.

The man lowered his voice. He spoke in English despite the fact that Adler both spoke and wrote the Russian language proficiently. "Do you like stories?" The man used the napkin that was on his lap to wipe his mouth. "I ask this because I have a story to tell."

He paused briefly as if thinking. "There were four Russian scientists, all brilliant. They were rumored to be working on a secret government project. Here is where the story gets darker. Less than two years ago, there was what was said to be a breakthrough. Something to revolutionize portable weaponry and something else. Something more guarded and hidden than the weaponry. Two days after the breakthrough, there was an unfortunate plane crash. All four scientists died, along with one computer programmer. The Russian government considered the accident a great tragedy. Four great minds were lost. Besides the lost of those great minds, was the lost of the technology. Apparently, all the data, electronics, and written documents were on the airplane along with those four men."

The man took up the wine glass and brought it close to his lips. He smelled the bouquet then took a sip. "This would be the end of the story but there is a twist. There is something that only I know about. One of those scientists was my friend. I went to see the mother. She is in a state-run hospital and ill. In fact, she died a few days ago. Before she died she told me a secret."

He smiled, "Her dead son had called her a week before."

He looked at Adler and shrugged. "Ah, I know what you're thinking. She spoke those words because of a delusional mind full of grief, because of the death of her only son. But it was not. Her son could not help himself. He phoned his mother. If anyone was to find out it would be his death, he told her. There was one more thing that he said, one word."

"And that would be?" Adler's mind was already putting pieces of the puzzle together.

"Lazarus." He raised his eyebrows and took the last sips of his wine. "Of course this is just a story."

Adler tried to look nonplussed, but her heart was racing. She took a few seconds of silence to phrase her words carefully. 'Lazarus' was what Sherlock had instructed her to tell Mycroft in the event of his death, or incapacitation.

"That is an interesting story. I only have one question." Irene picked up her wine and took a slow sip. She leaned back and locked eyes with him. "In this story, do these scientists have names?"

"Yes." The man smiled. "Yes, they do."

* * *

_**Current Day**_

Sherlock came into the room and remained in the back of the room. The members of the press sat in chairs, as Sergeant Ackland sat beside a team of four.

Robert Anderson was at the end, along with two other members of Scotland Yard. Lestrade had given the press conference over to Ackland in a silent protest, because Holmes was not given any credit for helping to solve the Carwin case. Lestrade stood in front of Holmes, some distance away. He leaned against the far wall with his arms folded.

Hands were raised and lowered as questions were answered one-by-one. Anderson was hailed as the one who found the critical link that solved the murder of a prominent family, and led to the recovery of several pieces of priceless art, which had been stolen in the last three months. The news conference finally ended with a few pictures of the big hero being taken.

Robert Anderson put on his professional face as camera lights flashed. Anderson had been careful to glance his eyes at Holmes frequently. He had a subtle smirk on his face.

Donovan walked in and leaned a few meters from Holmes. For the first time, a frown crossed Anderson's face. Within seconds, a fake smile took its place. Donovan subtly shifted until she was practically shoulder-to-shoulder with Holmes.

Donovan whispered while still not looking at Holmes. "I need to talk with you."

Holmes glanced at Donovan before glancing ahead. "We don't," Sherlock frowned, "talk."

Sally raised her eyebrows, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him physically from the room. He was so shocked, he allowed her to lead him away.

Several raised eyebrows and curious stares went their way. As she pulled him into a small room that was used for those who needed a rest. It contained a sofa, two chairs, a microwave, electric kettle for tea, and coffee.

She stood in front of him to speak when an officer came into the room. He looked surprised at them both. A stare from Donovan, and the officer held up his hands and backed out of the room.

She walked over to the door and locked it. She then turned back to Holmes. "You're Sherlock Holmes; you are rude, obnoxious, and completely off your trolley at times," she hesitated slightly as if it pained her to admit it, "but, you are not incorrect. Since when do you stare at a crime scene and not know what's going on. Yet Anderson," she snorted at the thought, "can pick up deductions, almost the way that you used to." She looked intently into Holmes' face. She folded her arms.

Her voice lowered to one of compassion not annoyance. "What's that about."

"I'm fine," he said a little monotone.

"Right." She did not try to hide the sarcasm. "You're fine, I'm fine, since we're both doing fine, we can jolly well be on our way."

Holmes glared down at Donovan and said with sugary sweetness, "Excellent idea Sergeant." He walked the short distance to the door. His hand was on the door, the other was on the door lock, when a voice stopped him.

"There are people that care about you. When you're not annoying the hell out of them, of course. Then they are those who care about you even when you do annoy them. You need to tell Doctor Watson what is happening."

Sherlock turned around, curious. "I am not saying that anything is wrong. But if there were, why would you think that Watson does not know about it?"

"The way he looks at you when your back is to him. It is almost as if, he's trying to figure something out. Like he's trying to stand guard over you. Whenever you turn and look at him, the look is gone."

Holmes seemed deep in thought, but said nothing.

_In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought._

She felt slightly uncomfortable, as if she had crossed some invisible line. "He's been trying to communicate with me. If he, I mean Anderson, is giving you a hard time, I could talk to…"

She did not notice that Holmes crossed the small space and had taken her arm in his hands. "Has he been aggressive with you lately?"

Sally did not answer directly but instead commented. "He's been a bit of an arse of late, but I can handle it. Underneath it all, he's harmless. I know him."

Sherlock laughed, it was a humorless sound. "No you don't. You really don't."

Donovan was stunned. Holmes always composed himself as if he had no emotions. She, on the odd occasion, had heard him laugh. Now he laughed, yet, this laugh contained no mirth, only warning and danger. As a rule, they would argue and contradict each other on principle alone. This time she just frowned.

"Stay out of it. And stay away from him." Sherlock looked in her questioning eyes for a few seconds. He then turned to leave. His text alert sounded as he headed for the door.

This time he did not pause or stop, his black coat twirled as he exited quickly.

Sally frowned. An idea came into her mind. She dismissed it as ridiculous. She moved toward the coffee when the exact same thought came again. This time it would not go away. It stained her thoughts like ink on white carpet.

She ignored the coffee and gave Lestrade a ring. She waited for the phone line to be answered. "Sir, do you have a minute? I need to speak to you about something." There was a pause. "Yes, Sir, I think it's important."

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading. This is something to get you by. I consider this a bonus posting. Fun Questions resume next posting. Thank you for your comments.

Lots of Love.


	141. Chapter 141

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 141

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

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Note: Knackered means tired. 2. Gobsmacked is shocked.

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

Here are a few chapters. More up by Friday. You can save those for the weekend or read all at once. Lots of Love.

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part I…_

* * *

_**"An enemy generally says and believes what he wishes." **_  
~ Thomas Jefferson

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He walked around the corner as his eyes discreetly scanned the area. He put the mobile to his cheek as he leaned his head toward the black cool object.

"Holmes." He knew who it was, but he did not want the increasingly annoying man to know that he was expecting his call.

"I need to see you." Robert Anderson's voice was irritated and clipped.

"How marvelous," Sherlock did not try to keep the insincerity out of his voice. He scanned the area again. He noticed an officer walking some distance down the long corridor. He suddenly turned left and swung the heavy metal door open as he entered the stairwell. He stood as he allowed the door to close. He leaned back against it.

Anderson spoke with the air of certainty when he gave the order. "Fifteen minutes. You know where." Anderson's voice was low. He was slightly breathy as if he was moving.

"Sorry, previous engagement. Anything you have to say to me can be said by mobile phone, like we have been doing for the last two weeks." Sherlock forced his body off the door. He started to descend the stairs as he walked toward the exit.

There was silence for a few long seconds. A sound of a door closing was heard. The volume of Anderson's voice suddenly increased. "Now, wait a minute, I'm in charge here. I tell you what to do and you listen!"

Sherlock swiftly walked down the stairs as he worked his way to the lower level. "Is there a reason for your call?"

There was a pause, as if Anderson suddenly remembered what he wanted. "There will be a press conference in a few hours. Be there," he ordered before continuing the normal threats and rants.

There was a moment of silence.

Sherlock reached the level that led to the street. He entered the main waiting area. He walked briskly as he exited the building. Only part of him was paying attention. He had blocked out the annoying man's voice as he normally did when Anderson went into a tirade.

A part of Sherlock's brain told him that it was time to pay attention.

"… you know what I can do to you, and to Lestrade if you don't do as I say." Anderson's voice held a dangerous edge.

Sherlock grit his teeth together in anger. "I will be there. This is between you and me, leave Lestrade out of this."

"Well, that's more like it…" Anderson's voice stopped mid-sentence, when Sherlock disconnected the mobile call.

Sherlock gripped the mobile in his hand as he looked around. He stood still for a moment, fuming. If he had to take one more threat from the man, he would not be responsible.

He breathed in the outside air and calmed himself. He ignored the light rain that started to fall. It was almost soothing.

Sherlock was not surprised when the familiar black sedan pulled up to him. He did not ignore it as he had done in the past. It was expected. He easily slid into the back seat and shut the door.

The sedan disappeared into the heavy London traffic.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Sebastian Moran looked at Holmes from across the street. The tinted windows of the motorcar provided the anonymity that he needed.

Everything was going according to plan.

"Four days," he whispered to himself.

He had a four-day plan to completely destroy Holmes body, soul, and mind. Not even his friends would be able to put him back together. Anderson would take the credit. The fool would think it was his idea. If something went wrong, Anderson would be blamed.

Anderson had proven to be more devious, and evil than even Riley. The Scotland Yarder was in the wrong line of work. He wore evil well, like one would wear an old suit.

Holmes had exited the Scotland Yard building minutes ago but remained in front of the building. He watched Holmes as he paced one way, and then the other, while he clutched his mobile. He seemed not to notice or care that it started to rain.

Moran laughed as he watched the Consultant Detective. "You seem a bit stressed."

Sebastian watched a black, government issued motorcar pulled up. He stood still for only a second before getting into the back seat.

He watched the motorcar hurry away.

"Drive," Moran ordered distractedly. The motorcar pulled into the traffic. He thought about his next move. He needed to make two calls. One was to Kitty to make sure that Anderson was being controlled. The other was more urgent.

He pulled out his mobile and rang a local drug dealer. He did not bother to say Hello. "Is everything ready?"

* * *

"_**When you deal with your brother, be pleasant, but get a witness."**_  
~Hesiod

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Mycroft looked at Sherlock. He had his head laid back and his eyes closed.

"Mycroft, how close are you?"

Mycroft raised one eyebrow. "Well, good day to you as well."

"We never say good day, what do you not want to say?"

Mycroft sighed. "I will need two more weeks. Less if you do not tie my hands. Any quicker movement would bring suspicion."

"I've identified two of Moriarty's spies. However, it goes deeper than we first thought. There might be as many as three or four more. That is not counting the one that you suspect. In several countries, covert government officials are trying to identify Moriarty's spies as well. They need to all be arrested at the same time. I do not need to tell you, that we cannot afford to give Moriarty time to adjust, or recover." There was a hesitation. "Robert Anderson, if he has the help of Moriarty's men, might well be able to do what he has threatened to do."

"I see." Sherlock became quiet and thoughtful.

Mycroft's voice was low and clipped. "Dangerous game you're playing dear brother. It seems that Doctor Robert Anderson is growing bolder by the day. He might be Moran's puppet, but a dangerous puppet, he remains." Mycroft's voice held a warning. "You must understand that I cannot stay out of this matter much longer."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft, while he rested his head back against the cool leather. The tension in his neck was still there. "Mycroft, we both know that something bigger at stake than whether or not Anderson is being annoying. There are more important things at stake than myself. If we alert Moriarty, to the fact that we know who his spies are, we lose our advantage. There are more important things at play; it has to remain a fight between two men."

Mycroft hand came out. His long, manicured fingers pressed the imaginary creases from his suit vest. He chose his words carefully. "If it was a fight between you, and the simpleton, Anderson, it would not concern me. He is no match for you. It is not. Moran has an army of people he has directed to destroy you. Moriarty thinks of you as his personal plaything. This is not a fair fight Sherlock, none of these people fight fair, least of all Anderson."

Mycroft became quiet.

Sherlock pursed his lips, and shifted to look out the window. Even though his face was turned, he could almost see the sour expression on his brother's face.

"I need two more weeks Mycroft. I don't want Lestrade being caught in the middle of this mess. There is also a possibility that he might be physically harmed. I cannot risk it."

"But you can risk yourself?"

There was a moment of tense silence. "If I don't get the information that we need," it was Sherlock's turn to pause, "we will do things your way."

Mycroft voice was stern when he spoke. "You have four days. I will withdraw my men as you requested, but they will stay within fifteen minutes of you at all times."

"I need at least a week…"

"Four. Days. Fifteen. Minutes. Away." Mycroft said no more but waited for an answer.

Sherlock sighed resigned. "Four days starting tomorrow."

Mycroft gave a slight nod. There was a brief moment of silence.

"John came to me today. He is determined to have answers. You know how he can be." Mycroft paused for a second. "Tell John, and Lestrade; at the very least, John"

Sherlock did not answer directly.

"I'll think about it." Sherlock glanced at his mobile and laid his head back on the car seat. He picked up his mobile thinking.

Mycroft locked eyes with his little brother. "What you're about to do, are you certain? He could hurt you."

Sherlock did not answer but instead looked into his brother's eyes.

"I see," Mycroft said evenly.

They were both quiet. Both were lost in their private thoughts as they were driven back to Scotland Yard.


	142. Chapter 142

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 142

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Thank you for your recent post:**

Note: Knackered means tired. 2. Gobsmacked is shocked.

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

Here are a few chapters. More up by Friday. You can save those for the weekend or read all at once. Lots of Love.

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part I…_

* * *

_**"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."**_  
~Eleanor Roosevelt

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

The room was filled with the press. Several media personalities were there, as well as several key members of society. Although everyone spoke in whispered conversations, the sheer number of those present caused the room to be filled with a dull buzz. There were rumors that someone other than Sherlock Holmes had been instrumental in solving the latest case.

There seemed to be a sudden quiet when Holmes walked into the room. Several pairs of eyes followed his movement; some held looks of curiosity, some pity, and others smugness. The man that seemed unstoppable suddenly could not seem to get anything correct. Rumors were that he had not been able to solve even the simplest case in two weeks.

Kitty Riley smiled as she walked back into the room with a cup of coffee. Ribbons of steam swirled, and ascended upwards before dissipating and leaving a pleasant aroma in its place. Riley looked over to where her photographer was seated. Of course, she did not think to get her coworker a cup when she got herself one. She took a sip as she visually scanned the crowd. She noticed some famous television personalities. Her mind wandered a bit. Soon she would be just as famous. She would never have to get coffee for herself again.

She looked around and saw Holmes in a far corner, out of the way, by himself. It was not like the man to be so quiet that he was barely noticed. She also noticed that Doctor Watson was not around. That was unusual. They almost seem to travel in packs. Maybe, this was an opportunity.

She smiled.

She thought that it was a lovely day.

She was not supposed to have direct contact with Holmes yet, but the thought of looking him in the eyes, and seeing the realization that she had something to do with this moment of his, disgrace, was more than she could ignore.

It was time to work. She took another sip. Her tongue ran over her teeth, she felt the unevenness, as her tongue cleared the last of the pungent brew away.

Despite the fact that the coffee was mostly full, she threw it in the rubbish bin. She ignored the sloshing sound that the dark, hot liquid made as it coated the sides of the bin. She slowly made her way over to the corner that Holmes seemed to hide himself in.

The chair in the front of the room filled as several men sat down. One was Robert Anderson. She noticed as Robert looked at her with what could only be described as shock and something else. Was it annoyance? It did not matter; she was only using the fool.

* * *

Robert noticed her making her way over to Holmes. His mouth went into a tight line. He reminded himself that there was a room full of people who were looking at him, and the other men that were seated. He suppressed the rage that he felt. What was she doing? She was an idiot.

They had a detailed plan that they were to follow. She was not supposed to approach Holmes yet. She had once been exciting, now he tolerated her. She was the leader in the beginning of their relationship. She had been useful. She had seemed to know what was happening before it happened. She was the one to suggest that he use the videotape evidence and blackmailed Holmes. Since that time, he had outgrown her. He had stopped listening to her completely and made his own decisions now.

He watched her approach Holmes and start to speak to him. Holmes seemed to be ignoring her.

This was supposed to be his day. The attention was to be on him. Anderson considered the fact that he once thought that he cared for Riley. He realized now that he did not. She had the contacts he needed, she had introduced him to important people. She was convenient. He enjoyed a good shag and she was always willing, the tramp. But, She could never be Sally. No one could be Sally. If Riley found out about Donovan, it did not matter. After tonight with Holmes, he would not need her anymore. He glanced at Riley and resisted the urge to smirk. She thought that he was in love with her, of course, he was not. He was just using the fool.

* * *

The news conference started, general statements were being made as well as acknowledgements, and introductions. Riley stood next to Holmes. His body tensed; otherwise, he remained silent.

They both lingered quietly in the back of the room watching the question and answer session.

She waited for Holmes to acknowledge her, flee, or curse her, something. She was slightly disappointed when he acted as if he had never seen her before. She resisted the urge to frown.

Anderson glanced at the two in the middle of a statement. He returned his attention back to the reporter who was currently asking the question.

Holmes noticed.

Holmes seemed to study Robert Anderson's face. He then, for the first time, turned to Riley. His eyes pierced hers. She resisted the urge to squirm.

"Interesting," Sherlock commented quietly before he returned to ignoring Riley. Riley made an effort not to scowl.

"You have nothing to say to me?" Riley said in a voice dripping with malice.

Sherlock looked at Riley for a few seconds. "You don't like me," Holmes said this as if it was a new discovery. Riley confusion increased. She blinked a few times but quickly recovered. She schooled her face.

"In a few minutes, I understand that Doctor Anderson will announce that he found critical evidence that led to closing the Simons case. I further understand that you had nothing to do with his conclusions."

"Nothing whatsoever," Sherlock said evenly.

Sherlock walked swiftly but quietly toward the door that led to an open area. The area contained a few desks, and Scotland Yard employees who sat at those desks. Before he could reach the door, a firm hand tightly, grasped his left wrist.

"Take your hands off of me," Sherlock voice was even, but his eyes darkened.

"Not quite yet, just one more question Mr. Holmes; since you seem to be of no benefit to Scotland Yard. Will you retire?"

"Shouldn't you be over there with the rest of the press? Ms." He looked at her nametag, "Riley."

She ignored his question. Pretending he did not know her; would not deter her.

"I further understand that an alleged murderer, a Miss Flora Millar, is being taken into detention as we speak, and you had nothing to do with apprehending the murderer." She ran a finger from her free hand over his cheek, "How do you like my new name for you, _The Incompetent Consultant_?"

Sherlock stared at her wordlessly for several long seconds. He raised his eyebrows. "I'm rather attached to my arm, no pun intended. I need it back now, if you don't mind." He used his free hand to pull her hand away from his wrist.

Holmes voice held the undertones of mockery, "Between you and me, you and Doctor Anderson really should not discuss Scotland Yard business when you're shagging like bunnies. Your already limited intellects suffers greatly by your attempts to think and plot, while simultaneously being engaged in such vigorous activities with your lover...," he stopped suddenly, and glanced at the side of her neck and a faint discoloration that was covered by her hair.

"Oh," he put his fingertips together and lay them to touch his bottom lip. "That would be lovers, one of two. That explains why you look a bit knackered. At first, I thought you might have acquired a sexually transmitted disease, but now that I look at your dull complexion, and dry hair. I think it's only hormone replacement that you need. With all those lovers, maybe you should take a nap between your, shall we say, activities. It might help with your energy levels."

She suddenly noticed that she was squirming and stopped. This was cocked-up. He was supposed to be the one who was uncomfortable, not her!

Riley's face was flushed red from embarrassment. "You'll be sorry you ever met me?"

"I already am." Sherlock's attention was diverted. He had already dismissed her.

Riley followed Holmes with her eyes.

Sherlock noticed that Lestrade was staring at him, his attention seemed to be focus on him. Lestrade motioned him over. A small commotion was taking place just outside the large room. Holmes had walked away quickly. He walked up to Lestrade and shook the hand of the man who was standing next to Lestrade. It was Lord Simon.

Riley nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ears as she walked away frowning. A flush colored her face. She quietly sat down beside her photographer.

"Where were you then?" He asked with irritation. "We have a job to do."

She cleared her throat. Something seemed to be stuck there. "I was talking to Mr. Holmes. There is another story here."

"Well you could have told me that…" The photographer's voice was interrupted by the sudden increase of volume.

Riley noticed the gobsmacked look on Anderson's face. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She turned her upper body, as she followed his eyes. Her mouth hung open wordlessly.

"Isn't that Miss Doran? She certainly looks good for a dead woman." He turned to Riley. "Did you have an interview with Holmes, did you know about this?"

Riley was too shocked to think of a proper lie fast enough to save her pride, so the truth escaped her lips.

"No."


	143. Chapter 143

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 143

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Thank you for your recent post:**

Note: Knackered means tired. 2. Gobsmacked is shocked.

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

Here are a few chapters. More up by Friday. You can save those for the weekend or read all at once. Lots of Love.

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part I…_

* * *

"_**Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.**__**"**_

~ Benjamin Franklin

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

The doors were closed and the windows shaded. All eyes had been glued to the group as they walked into the room. Reporters had to be told that another press conference would take place in two hours. This time, Lestrade would be in charge as well as several officers. Holmes had declined from being involved.

He turned to look at Mr. Lord Simon. He looked unusually pale and drawn. A deadly quiet had descended on the office. Holmes sat next to an unknown man, who had been identified as, Captain Frank Montana and Harriet Doran. She looked quite good for a dead woman.

The body language between Doran and Montana was unmistakable.

Lestrade could feel a headache coming on. He had privately warned his superiors about the dangers of proceeding with the news conference, but Anderson had found sudden favor with the authorities. At the same time, Lestrade had lost favor because of his refusal to abandon Sherlock. Furthermore, his unwavering public support of Holmes had made the last few weeks more than unpleasant. Of course, he did not tell Sherlock or John.

Greg glanced at Sherlock. He just finished explaining with his usual brilliance, how he solved the entire case from one-half faded hotel bill receipt that he found on the floor of the church.

The man, on his worst day, was brilliant.

Lestrade resisted the urge to chuckle at the dumbfounded look on Anderson's face, when Harriet Doran walked in. He had been in the middle of explaining how evidence suggested that she was murdered by Miss Flora Millar. The reporters went wild. At least one, or two photographers, must have taken a picture of Anderson with his mouth open.

Lestrade's mind wandered to John.

It was odd to see Sherlock without John. He had just had a phone conversation with him. John had just been confirming that Sherlock was with him, and was unharmed. He would never tell Sherlock that John was following his movements. He was not in the mood to listen to Sherlock whine about how he was a grown man and could take care of himself.

Anderson was in the far corner. He looked as if he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Lestrade sighed loudly. He supposed that it was time to break the silence. "Just so I understand this clearly." He turned to look at Harriet. "You are already married to Captain Frank Montana. A year ago, he disappeared and was believed to be dead, but he was simply a prisoner of war. You saw him sitting among the witnesses when you were leaving your wedding to Mr. Simon. But rather than simply explaining to Mr. Simon, and facing this mess, you ran away without a word?"

Harriet looked distressed. Frank noticed and took Harriet's hand in his and squeezed. She locked eyes with him for a second and started to speak.

"I did not handle the situation as well as I could. That is true, but it was a shock." She looked down for a minute thinking. "The marriage had been beneficial for both families, I knew that Lord cared for me and I was fond of him. I care for Lord, and always will. I saw no reason that I could not be as content with him, as with anyone else. But, I did not love him. I have never loved any man but Frank. I know that sounds terrible, but it is the truth. I have always been truthful to Lord about this fact."

She looked at Lestrade. He was trained to detect deception. He did not sense any in her. "Lord never knew of my prior marriage. I simply told him that I was in love, he had died, and a part of me had died with him. I thought that to be the truth."

"When I saw him, I went into the dressing room, I was near tears. Miss Flora Millar came in and saw me. The woman always seemed to be near. She asked what I was distressed about, I told her. She swore to help. I gave her a note to give to Lord. She promised to deliver both the note and the wedding dress to him."

She held up her head. "I suppose I was a coward, but the man I loved, my husband by law, was standing within my reach. I left." She turned and looked at Simon. "I promise you, I did not know that I was thought dead until Mr. Holmes contacted me."

Lestrade spoke up. "How did the wedding dress get into the river? A lot of money has been spent on manpower to look for a dead woman."

"I can help with that," Sherlock broke his silence as he looked at Harriet. "Miss Flora Millar volunteered to take the wedding dress back to Mr. Simon. The dress belonged to Mr. Simon's mother, I would guess. The style was a bit retro. All the photographs that I examined of you; had you in modern sleek clothing styles. Miss Flora Millar also said that she would deliver your note for you. She was in love with Mr. Simon. She knew that if he received your note, he might have gone after you, maybe even fought for you. However, if you were thought to be dead, Mr. Simon would grieve, but eventually move on. She would be there to snatch him up."

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "It was Flora Millar who put the gown in the river, she's not a murderer, just desperate."

"Please let her go Detective Inspector. Sometime when you're in love, one does silly things." She looked at Frank Montana.

Simon spoke for the first time, "Hatty, you felt that you could not face me? That part hurt the most."

She smiled for the first time. "It wasn't you I could not face; it was your father, especially your mother."

A sad smile ghosted his face. "I barely want to face them myself." Harriet and Lord looked at each other. An understanding passed between them.

* * *

Several minutes later, everyone was standing to exit his office. After a handshake with Holmes and a disapproving look at Anderson, Simon left the office, only Holmes was left.

Lestrade walked around and sat on the edge of his desk facing Sherlock. Neither man said anything. Sherlock just stared off and looked at the wall.

"What's this about then?" Lestrade asked, "Today you solved the most press covered case in over a year. You totally humiliated Anderson, and I can't even manage to get that arrogant little smile out of ya."

Sherlock looked straight ahead, "I just locked myself in a room with a wounded dog."

Lestrade frown, "Would this wounded dog be Anderson."

Sherlock looked at him with surprise. He studied Lestrade before suddenly rolling his eyes. "How many times have John called."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Believe it or not, I have investigated a case or two without you."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "How many times?"

"Twice." Lestrade admitted. "The first time, he said that you were missing. You should have known that Mrs. Hudson was going to call him. The second time, he called to make sure that you had reached here safely. He asked me to keep an eye on you and watch Anderson. Why would he be concerned about Anderson?"

Sherlock was silent.

Lestrade frowned and rubbed one hand on the back of his neck. "Donovan has also come to see me this morning…"

Sherlock abruptly stood to leave. Lestrade moved faster than he anticipated and blocked his exit with his body.

"I wasn't finished," Lestrade said with some irritation.

"I think you were." Sherlock said as he tried to get around him.

"It has to be something serious, we both know that you don't care what people think." Lestrade joked. "Did Anderson find that body you buried years ago?"

Sherlock looked solemn.

"That was supposed to be a joke." Lestrade was suddenly serious.

Sherlock noticed the look on his face and rolled his eyes. "If I had buried a body, no one would ever find it."

Lestrade let out a breath of relief and sat next to Sherlock. "Yeah. True. Very true."

"What is it then?" Lestrade turned to Sherlock, "I can call Anderson in."

"What for?" Sherlock asked mockingly. "For giving me the evil eye."

"If your recent behavior is any indication mate, I think he's done more than give you the evil eye." Lestrade frown.

"If he did injure or wrong me in some way, why wouldn't I be the first to report him?"

"I don't know," Lestrade said barely above a whisper, "and that's what scares me." He paused, "Knowing you, you're protecting someone. Is it John?" His phone beeped. "Sorry, Press conference. They're having it early. Let me see if I can smooth over this mess."

Lestrade stood up and pulled on is suit jacket. He turned and looked at Sherlock. "Stay here. John will be here in two hours, I'll be back in one. If you're bored, you can look over the double homicide, but don't let anyone catch you doing it. And no sneaking the case files to Baker Street."

The first real hint of a smile, ghost Sherlock's face. Lestrade put his hand on his shoulder, "Will you stay?"

Sherlock gave a nod.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock briefly then walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Maybe it was time to talk to John. He did not want to pull John into the mess, or make him a target, but he would find out anyway, and might inadvertently undo his plans.

He sighed already feeling the familiar pull of boredom. He raised an eyebrow and looked at the case file on Lestrade's desk. He pulled his chair closer to Lestrade's desk and reached for the file when an email alert sounded.

A thought came to Sherlock's mind; he hoped that he was wrong. He opened the unnamed email. A picture appeared on his phone screen. He sat back quietly and looked. Sherlock felt lightheaded until he remembered that he forgot to breath. He took in a deep ragged breath.

He calmly stood. He walked over to the door and reached for his coat. He robotically wrapped the scarf around his neck. He made his way out the Yard. There was tension in the back of his neck. He ignored it.

Several eyes watched as he climbed into the London taxicab, and sped away.

Moments later when his mobile rang, it was no surprise.

* * *

_**Current day**_

_**Current Time**_

_**Moscow, Russia**_

She closed her eyes for a moment. She breathed deeply, the cold air bit her lungs. It had been nonstop movement since she had come to Moscow. She had traveled to Nizhny Novgorod, Saint Petersburg, and then back to Moscow hours before. She thought of the last time that she was in Moscow with Sherlock. It was a pleasant memory. A small smile lit her face. A very pleasant memory.

She turned her attention to her environment. She scanned the area and faces that passed her. The cold air caressed her skin as she watched the sunset retreat. The park was positioned between two sets of tall, diverse buildings in front and behind. Scattered lights dotted the building windows, as people retreated into their flats for their evening meals, to socialize, or rest before the next workday.

Irene Adler sat quietly on the wooden park bench. Small trees were scattered evenly throughout the space. She found her eyes squinting in the dimming light. She looked at her watch then looked back around. The temperature was dropping fast, only a few brave souls briskly walked with determination.

Her fur-trimmed overcoat was pulled snugly over her head and zipped up as far as possible. Her leather glove clad fingers rubbed absently at the weathered wood.

She looked around again. She could not see Mycroft's men, but she knew that they were there. Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eyes. A figure approached from her left and slightly behind where she sat.

The tall figure walked casually and sat next to Adler. He was in an overcoat that seemed too thin for the temperature. A thick, fur trimmed hat covered his receding hair and ears. The informant that she met in the _Les Menus Restaurant _sat down. His long legs seemed not to fit on the bench. They both spoke in Russian.

"Sorry I arrived late. There were difficulties." He opened his briefcase. He withdrew a large, manila, packet. "This has the information that you requested as well as the names of the Russian scientist that disappeared."

His brown eyes looked haunted. He took out a metal flask and took a large sip. He welcomed the burning sensation as it traveled down his throat. He exhaled heavily through his teeth. His right hand came to his thick mustache. The back of that gloved hand wiped away the drops of clear liquid that rested there.

He suddenly thought, and offered the alcohol to Adler. She normally would not even consider such a thing, but when she looked in his eyes, she could not refuse him.

She took a small sip and grimaced.

Vodka.

The strong taste assaulted her palate. She cleared her throat and said thank you. He looked at her with examining eyes for a few seconds then broke into a smile. He took one last swig before his beefy fingers closed the top of the metal flask and put it back in his pocket.

His eyes looked toward the last remnants of the colorful dim remains from the setting sun. He seemed far away. "I love my country. I do this for one reason. I am afraid. You have to understand that nothing, before this, has ever made me afraid."

The informant looked at Adler and attempted to smile. "Well, I think I will take an extended holiday." He rose from the park bench. Adler rose as well.

"Whoever suspected this was correct. Get the information to him or her. Give them a message for me." The man looked down at Adler.

"What message would that be?" Adler asked, curious.

"Save us," the informant said simply. He held out his hand and shook Adler's smaller ones.

He did not let go of her hand; but held it as he locked eyes with hers. When he spoke, his voice was grave. "I might have just killed you by giving you this. I should not like that on my conscience." He squeezed her hand and let go. He then turned away from her and said. "You know how to find me."

His long legs moved swiftly. He first blended then disappeared completely, into the dim light.


	144. Chapter 144

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 144

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Thank you for your recent post:** Note: Knackered means tired. 2. Gobsmacked is shocked.

*****.*** **T rated** ****. ****

Here are a few chapters. More up by Friday. You can save those for the weekend or read all at once. Lots of Love.

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part I…_

* * *

"_**Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.**__**"**_

~ Terry Pratchett (English Writer)

* * *

He followed the instruction and entered the warehouse. It was one of several such warehouses in the industrial park. It was dangerously secluded. The faint smell of the river lingered about. This particular structure was close to the river Thames. Sherlock knew that it was unwise to come. Anderson however had been persuasive. More specifically, his threat had been persuasive.

He walked toward Anderson. His eyes glanced around the warehouse. It was a dim place with corners of darkness. The musty smell assaulted his nose. Something about this place made a shiver run through him. He was not sure why. He wished that John were by his side. He quickly dismissed the thought and refocused his attention to the room.

He stopped a few yards from Anderson. He did not intend to get closer. He also realized that his intentions mean very little in this situation.

"You… you were irritating today." Anderson said a lot calmer that Holmes thought he would. "You humiliated me."

There was a moment of silence.

"Come closer, I don't bite." Anderson sounded almost friendly.

Holmes scoffed. "I don't think so."

"You're going to regret today." Anderson searched his eyes for fear. "Tonight, you're coming with me. I'm going to finish what I started that day. You're going to let me and not say a word to…" Anderson was interrupted.

"So in this fantasy of yours, I'm to be a willing participant in my own assault? Sorry, that doesn't work for me." Holmes looked at Anderson. "I have a better idea. You have twenty-four hours to turn over the videotape. You never call, text, or touch me in any way again. You and your new friends, stay away from Lestrade. Here is the benefit. You stay out of prison. If you don't, I'll turn all the evidence over to Lestrade."

"You don't have any evidence. I made sure of that." Anderson could not help the frown that had formed on his face.

"We both know that you're not as clever as you think you are. There is evidence. Not to mention that lovely picture you sent me. Thank you for that, by the way. I forwarded it somewhere safe. No matter what your friends told you, and that reporter you're sleeping with, it can be traced back to you."

Anderson spoke without thinking. "How did you know I was sleeping with her?"

"Please," Sherlock said impatiently.

Anderson was dumbfounded for a moment, his mouth partially opened. "You would never show anyone that photograph. You're a proud man."

Sherlock scanned the area again. "That's the first thing that you've gotten correct. I am. Nevertheless, I will do whatever is necessary. You should know that about me by now."

Anderson became angry. He stepped toward Holmes. His voice rose desperately. "Do you know the danger I can bring into your life. Into the lives of those you're trying to protect."

Sherlock took a few steps back to maintain the distance. "What about the danger in your life. You in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by sharks, and you don't even realize you're bleeding." Sherlock gave a condescending look. "Do you even know who your master is?"

Anderson frowned but said nothing.

"Twenty-four hours," Sherlock reminded him. He then turned to leave.

"Don't take another step." A sort of desperation filled Anderson. He could sense his carefully constructed plans, crumbling, and falling down around him. The last bit of his self-control and reserve fell. The crash of it was deafening.

Sherlock ignored him. He was able to take two steps until he heard the click of a gun. His eyes widened as he turned around. He knew the man was getting more imbalanced as the days went along, but this was something entirely different.

Sherlock mouth was set in a grim line. He said, "Are you completely insane? What are you going to do? Shoot me? With your own gun, none-the-less. I'm sure even you must have heard of a little thing called forensic evidence."

Anderson glared. "Evidence is misplaced often, every day in fact."

Sherlock's smile became sugary sweet. "Especially when you're in charge of it."

Anderson moved in jerky, angry movements. He slammed Sherlock against the warehouse wall. The gun found its way to his stomach. "I was a good man before you came along. This is entirely your fault. You've ruined my career, ended my marriage, and caused me to drink. You took my Sally away from me." Anderson smiled for the first time. "I think that you should be punished."

"Is that what you tell yourself so that you can sleep at night?" Sherlock laughed in his face. It was a bitter, mocking sort of sound. "I didn't deserve anything that you have done to me," Sherlock looked intently into the eyes of his enemy, "Is planning to do to me. Are you ready for the truth?" Sherlock whispered to Anderson. "You were never a good man. You could have been, but you were entirely too self-centered and selfish to try, even for the sake of your children, whom you claim to love. I assume that is the sentiment that you were attempting to achieve, but the truth is that, the one talent that you do possess is that you are a believable actor. But, I saw through you within ten minutes, the first time I met you."

Anderson held his head up smugly. He was surprisingly quiet as he listened.

"I ruined your career, or did you. You were called, what was it?" There was mockery in Sherlock's voice, "Oh yes, _The Golden Boy of Scotland Yards_. I long suspected that you did whatever was necessary, even, at times, planted evidence rather than admit that you were wrong. You even went as far as doctoring your reports. Anything to make it look like you are a genius. The ironic thing is that you were talented. But unfortunately, you were also too lazy and impatient to develop that talent." There was a brief pause. "As far as your wife and the drinking, I am not an expert on the subject, but I understand that most wives tend not to tolerate their husbands having a lover, several in your case, they're sensible that way. Let us pretend for a moment that you're not using drugs and is just an alcoholic. You started to drink to forget the guilt you felt when you looked into the eyes of your wife, and children."

He looked sober. "As for Donoven, you did not love her. You were obsessed with her. Even I could see that. She did love you; yet, found the strength to be rid of you. I believe and hope she'll never take you back."

The slap on his face did not surprise him. Anderson held the gun with one hand now. Sherlock glanced down at the gun. Anderson noticed and quickly put both hands back on the gun. He also thought it wise to take several steps away from Holmes.

"I could do anything I want to you and nothing will happen to me. You'd be surprised who is protecting me." Anderson's voice held pride.

"So you keep saying. I'm starting to believe that you're acting again. Everything that you've done to me is luck, nothing more. You claim to suddenly know people of importance, powerful people. Who could you know that's important?"

Anderson glared. "You'd be surprised at who I know."

"So, you keep saying. I'll never believe you." Sherlock looked condescending.

"You'll never convince me. Even I would admit to being impressed if anything that has happened between us was planned, if you really did know someone of importance. You don't do you?" Anderson looked unsure for a moment and did not answer. A smile came on Holmes face.

"You have no power over me except what I give you." Sherlock held up his head. "I think I've had enough." Sherlock walked backwards slowly as he watched Anderson's hand carefully.

Anderson's mouth was open in confusion. It was vital that he kept Holmes there. He was so close to finishing his plan. Now, the freak was ruining it! Was the freak really backing away from him? Did he not know that he would shoot him? He would shoot him, wouldn't he?

Anderson grew desperate, as his options slammed around in his mind. "You're a proud man. I'll release the entire video of you being tortured by the terrorist. The photograph I sent you was the mildest one. And, I have something worse than the videotape. Do you really want everyone to see your, difficulties?"

A sudden dull pain traveled through his skull, then was gone. Sherlock pressed his lips together.

"You okay"? Anderson smirked. "You seem to get a bit of a headache whenever we discuss your difficulties. Not that I'm complaining. You're easier to handle when you're like this. Bad memories mate?"

Sherlock ignored him. He, however, could not stop the grimace. "I meant it when I said that I would prosecute you. You'd go to prison. You're a weak pathetic excuse for a man. What do you think will happen to you?"

"For me to go to prison. You'd have to testify. What if you were in no condition to testify, or anything else?"

Sherlock frowned. He stopped backing up when he noticed Anderson's finger tightening on the trigger of the gun.

He tried again to ignore the dull headache as he looked for his options. He put his hands in his pockets.

"Take your hands out your pockets. I'm not stupid." Anderson's gun filled hands waved back and forth.

Sherlock tried to keep his voice level despite the headache. "Do you really want to explore whether or not you're intellectually up to power?"

A satisfied look came across Anderson's face. "I was wrong about you? You do care, for Lestrade don't you? Is it true that he stood by you when even your own family abandoned you because you're a freak. I could do as I said. I could ruin him, with one phone call. If you don't care about yourself, what about him. I won't go to prison, but Lestrade could. Don't underestimate the influence of my new friends. He'd be in prison, before he had a chance to know what had happened. What do you think will happen to him in prison? Lestrade has put a lot of bad and nasty people away." He smiled. "Don't worry; I am sure that Lestrade will eventually be found innocent. I can imagine that you'll fight for him. I can even imagine that after a year or two in prison, he'll be released, but, I assure you, not before he'd suffer quite a bit…"

Sherlock took two angry steps toward him.

"Ah-Ah-Ahhh. I can shoot," Anderson said with glee.

"You would do this to a man who has helped and stood by you, someone that considers you a friend. You're a more pathetic prat than even I had imagined." Sherlock voice volume grew. "You could never convince me that you can do this alone. All I hear is a lot of threats, where's the proof of your new found power." Sherlock hissed. "Unless you prove, here and now that you're more than a pathetic joke of a man, that you can do what you say. Aim well. You miss, my turn." Sherlock's voice started to lose control.

Anderson was thrilled as he witnessed the normally composed man lose his composer. He calmly picked up his mobile and pushed one number that was preprogrammed into his mobile. "Yes, it's me. I just wanted to assure you that I am close to finding out who the plant is for the criminal that we have been discussing. I should have the answer for you later this week, and then you can notify internal affairs. Nasty business, Mike. Someone in our ranks has been leaking information to criminal organizations, taking bribes, and the worst part is the child pornography I found. I almost became sick." There was a pause. "There's no need to thank me Mike. I'm sorry I have to go. No, No more problems from Lestrade, thank you and good day."

Anderson made sure that he watched Holmes face closely as he disconnected the call. He looked pleased with the fact that it was more pale than usual. He was looking at the ground with a blank look on his face. Anderson's smile widened.

"Let go somewhere private."

Holmes seemed frozen with confusion.

"Did you hear me freak?"

Holmes blinked a few times as if he just heard him.

Anderson walked close to Holmes and looked downwards. He smirked as he insulted and tried to intimidate the man. He was almost on a high as he enjoyed Holmes discomfort. He finally came close enough to touch Holmes. He was so busy insulting the Consultant Detective; he did not notice that he pointed his gun down. He also did not notice an important fact.

Sherlock's head was still bowed down. However, the look of confusion left instantly. His body became tight as his hands slowly moved away from his body. His eyes looked sharp and focused. His eyes became dark.

Anyone but an idiot would have noticed the sudden changes. They would have wondered at the look in Sherlock's eyes and backed down, or taken more caution.

Anyone but an idiot.

But, as it has already been established, Robert Anderson was an idiot.

* * *

A/N: Love and peace. Thank you all for reading. Stay safe.

** **Optional Fun Question**:

I have made a strong reference to canon, The Noble Bachelor. In this story, Simon's first name is Lord. In canon, what is he called by Hatty Doran? Feel free to read or use the internet, but let me know if you did not need to.

**Bonus question**: The last name of Hatty's Frank was what?**  
**

Have fun. :)


	145. Chapter 145

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 145

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

***Congratulations** to Benedict Cumberbatch for winning best actor at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards. _Sherlock, _and_ Parade's End._

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

**Thank you for your recent post:** Kitiara88 (Thank you, more to come.), eohippus, (Thank you for the multiple post. Get ready.), Bookworm Gal (John, Sherlock, and Anderson, What will happen?) Lillkin (Have some tea, and get a blanket.), kamelion, (Thank you for your multiple post. More to come.), nourss (Some of your questions will start to be answered.), Benfan (Thanks for the multiple post. Is your hair ready to stand on end again?), e la mucca salto sulla luna, (Thanks for your comments, more ahead.), gemstone1234 (Thanks. More tension ahead. I tried to type a little faster for you.), OMG (Have some tea and a blanket. More ahead.), Kelllie ( Thanks Kelllie, get ready.), Prothoe (Thank you for your multiple post love. Will Moran's four day plan work?). To all guess and PM, thanks.

Thank you ; Me And The Time Vortex, deaka, goanago, Whosawesome, Rouge Singe, Nourss, goanago, Lillkin, It's-Somebody, lizzie1250, Dawnfire11, RiverSong11, georgiporgiepuddingandpie, . , e la mucca salto sulla luna, kassandwich, T're Urvawi, lizzie1250, Kelllie, Sdale05, jack63kids, kassandwich ,macgyvershe, cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.

The question was the reference to canon, The Noble Bachelor.

**Congratulations:** The winner of the Fun Question is, **Kitiara88**, cyber cheers! That was a difficult one. Lord Robert St. Simon is correct. Also Flora Millar, Harriet Doran (In the book her name is Hatty). Frank's last name in the book is Moulton.

*****.*** **T rated** but there is some violence.****. ****

I wanted to put something up today. So, here is a bonus chapter. Multiple chapters late tomorrow or early Sunday. Warning, this is a cliffie. That is why more will be up so soon. Lots of Love.

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part II…_

* * *

"_**The past is strapped to our backs. We do not have to see it; we can always feel it**_." ~Mignon McLaughlin

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He blinked a few times as he tried to focus. There was an annoyingly distracting ringing sound in his ears.

"What happened?" Anderson slurred as he shook his head to clear the lifting mental fog. He tried to shift his body, but he could not move. He felt something cool and firm on the back of his head, torso, and legs. He slowly realized that he was lying flat on the concrete floor.

Anderson tried to shift his body again to sit up. "What the hell?" He asked himself confused. He felt a sting on his lips and a pressure on his chest. He felt something warn drip from his nose. He blinked to clear the blurry image of the dark figure above him. His eyes finally cleared. Anderson looked at the man who stood above him. The realization that it was Sherlock Holmes, who had one foot firmly planted on his chest, came suddenly.

The embarrassingly brief struggle now came back to him in full clarity. Anderson tried to sit up and push the offensive foot off of him, but a quick push ended the struggle.

When Sherlock spoke, he looked into the face of the man who had caused him a great deal of bother. Holmes looked smug. Anderson puckered his lips defiantly and frowned struggling.

Sherlock's tone was low and dangerous, "Stay down, or I'll be forced to hit you again; maybe several times. Trust me when I say that the act will not be without its joys."

Anderson pouted as he stopped struggling. A horrible thought came into his mind. "You used me. You wanted me to tell you the name of the man that's at Scotland Yard."

Sherlock, for the first time, took his foot off of Anderson's chest. "Even idiots can have moments of clarity."

Sherlock scanned the area before taking the bullet clip from Anderson's gun. He pocketed the clip, but threw the weapon. The reverberating sound of the metal gun, clanged several times on the concrete, before it landed with a hard thud against a far wall. Sherlock continued to slowly back up.

He looked at Anderson with disdain. "This arrangement is concluded." He turned to walk away.

Anderson started to chuckle quietly. "Plan B."

Sherlock slowly turned and looked at the man. He searched his eyes and his own mind.

Anderson's gentle chuckle graduated into a soft laugh. It was a complicated, multidimensional sound, filled with irony, slight embarrassment, and the promise of danger.

Sherlock made a deduction, understanding instantly. His eyes again traveled around the room in quick jerky motions, this time with more urgency. Every shadow and corner suddenly became a potential threat.

Anderson spoke in between the laughter. "Don't you remember this warehouse?"

A sharp stab of pain raced through Sherlock's scull then. It disappeared, leaving a dull throb in its place. Sherlock grimaced then frowned. A suppressed thought, a forgotten memory itched at the back of his mind. He walked backwards while keeping a wary eye on Anderson.

It was getting more difficult to speak in between laughing. "What is it? Amnesia? PTSD? How could you forget the two weeks of pleasure spent here?" Anderson smiled, "Well, I say pleasure. You might say torture. I'm sorry we could not celebrate the actual day, but it's never too late, is it? Happy anniversary… freak." Anderson's laughter became louder.

Sherlock was in the middle of turning away from Anderson when it happened. Blinding pain hit his head. He stumbled backwards and fell against the wall. He slammed his eyes shut. Disorganized, disjointed memories of the very warehouse he stood in; flooded into his mind, without mercy. The memories were most unpleasant. He wished that they had stayed forgotten. He was grateful for the dim light. The dirty wall was the only thing that held him upright, and on his feet; he stayed leaning against it for a few minutes. The pain ebbed slightly, he forced his eyelids open; he resisted the urge to slam them shut again. He felt nauseated and slightly disoriented, yet one thought found its way past the pain.

'_Move'_.

Anderson's laughing became more uncontrolled. Holmes overwhelmed senses were alert. His hand went into his pocket as he felt for the hard object without giving anything away. He normally did not have to look to push the mobile numbers, but he found himself too uncoordinated to do so now. He gave up on the idea for the time and concentrated on remaining upright.

Sherlock stumbled away. He held on to the wall heavily with one hand, as he pulled out his mobile. He staggered away as quickly as his body would allow. He ignored the lingering headache. Minutes later, his movements became more steady, his body slightly stronger with each step. His fingers shakily pressed the number one on his mobile key pad and the send key.

The mobile rang once then disconnected abruptly.

Sherlock exhaled noisily. The signal strength was weak inside the building. Sherlock tried to connect again. He blinked several times in an effort to focus. His eyes glanced suspiciously around the space as he entered the first corridor.

The line connected. Sherlock spoke in a rushed, unsteady voice. "John…"

The mobile signal dropped.

Sherlock hissed a curse then tried to text this time. He was feeling physically stronger. Except for a weak throb in the back of his head, and slight shake in his hands, he felt like himself again. At least physically. His steps were becoming increasingly hurried. He pushed the send key. He kept the mobile in his hand when he started a light jog. He was halfway through the first corridor. It would come to a dead end soon. It did have two adjacent corridors. One was on the left, and the other one was on the right.

Sherlock did not realize how tense his muscles were held together until he was a few yards away from the end of the passageway. One left turn, one long corridor, a set of stairs, and he would be out the door.

A dank, musty smell assaulted his nostrils. The edges of his suit trousers had picked up dust as he moved. Sherlock suddenly felt dirty. He glanced at the dust, cobwebs, and grime that the abandoned space seemed to have in abundance. He suddenly wished for a hot shower with an unending supply of soap. Grime never bothered him before, odd that.

Sherlock came to the end of one corridor, turned left, and entered another. He continued to jog. The steady slapping sound of his shoes on concrete, seemed to almost echo as he entered the larger space. The sound seemed to multiply at the same time that his mobile rang. He realized that it was the sound of feet running. There was no one in front so it did not take a genius to know that he was being pursued from behind.

One hand was on the mobile phone. The other hand swung back and forth in an effort to help propel his body forward faster. His opened black overcoat flapped behind him, as his long, toned legs carried him further away from the sounds behind.

"Sherlock…" John's voice held apprehension. Sherlock's breathy voice immediately interrupted John.

"John… in trouble," he took the opposite shoulder that held the mobile, and slammed it into the door that led to the stairwell. The door opened bouncing hard on the wall. "I'm south…" Sherlock stop speaking abruptly. He put the mobile in his pocket, but did not disconnect.

Three men froze, so did Sherlock before pandemonium broke out. The first man who was closest to Holmes swung a fist at him. He easily ducked the punch. Holmes braced his upper body as he used his legs to kick the first man in the chest. The first man lost his balance, and tumbled into the man behind. The first, and second men fell with a loud crash; unfortunately, the third man was still standing and advancing on Holmes.

As the third man was running up the stairs. Holmes placed both hands on the rusty metal rail and swung his body over in one fluid motion. He barely avoided twisting his ankle as he landed hard on the edge of the stairs. He did not have time to think about the near catastrophe, as he scampered down the remaining stairs with one man following close, two more following further behind, and yet two more left in a pile.

Sherlock's feet danced manically from step-to-step, in quick, rhythmic taps. If he managed not to trip, he would be out the building in a manner of minutes. He hoped that the mobile signal had not dropped, and that John could hear what was going on. Droplets of sweat started to roll down Sherlock's neck, and face. He did not bother to look back. Forward was where he wanted to be.

Sherlock crashed through the door to the outside full-force. He ran several steps before he froze. The harsh sound of breaths, inhaling and exhaling, filled the air. The chill of the air conspired to further chilled his sweat soaked skin. His body and head remained still, as his eyes traveled in a slow circle.

There was now a increasing chorus of harsh, breathy sounds that surrounded the Consultant Detective. Slowly more men came around the detective.

Sherlock mind scanned their bodies. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the boot of a car that was opened. One unpleasant looking man stood by it. His mind searched for an angle, looked for a way out of the inevitable. He could find none. The final result would be the same.

He looked at the angry looking man to his left. He had a bleeding wound to the side of his face. Another man was similarly injured. They both looked particularly unhappy. He now turned in a slow circle as two more men joined the group, eight in total now. There was also one man in the driver's side of the car, and one still standing patiently by the trunk. They all circled him as they caught their breath, but did not touch him. The door opened again. He knew to whom the footsteps belonged. His jaws clinched of their own accord.

Anderson.

Anderson walked up to the front of Holmes as he looked in his eyes. There was a bruise to his jaw and drying blood under his nose.

Sherlock eyes narrowed as he looked at him.

Anderson stood further away from Holmes than the rest of the men. He was careful not to get close enough for Holmes to strike him.

Anderson's eyes widened into a look of mock concern as he spoke. "I doubt even you can wiggle your way out of this one mate." Then Anderson smiled despite the pain it caused.

"Do you like my new friends? The whore I'm shagging provided them for me, my own personal army. She provided me with a lot of things." He winked at Holmes. "You're quite clever, aren't you. You had me figured out from the first day, you say…"

One man moved toward Holmes with a syringe.

"… all that cleverness, all that wit, and still, I have you…"

The men looked warily at Holmes as his hands moved away from his body.

"… my friend said that I needed a plan B with you. This is it." Anderson scoffed darkly, "I told you that you're coming with me. There's too many men here for you to fight off everyone."

"You're correct." Holmes said evenly.

"I'm correct?" Anderson asked disbelievingly. "You're admitting I'm right?"

The man with the syringe took the syringe cap off, exposing the sharp needle. He held it as he advanced with caution.

"Yes, there are too many men for me to fight off everyone." Without another word, Sherlock elbowed the man in front of Anderson. He lunged at Anderson, punching him in his already injured nose.

Anderson let off a high-pitched yelp as the men wrestled Sherlock away from him while trying unsuccessfully to avoid his punches.

Sherlock kept fighting when a needle pierce through his overcoat into his skin. He fought when hands grabbed, and hit him quicker than he could defend himself. He fought when the world started to tilt, and spin. He fought a battle he would not win.

Yet... He fought.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading. Something to get you by. I consider this a bonus posting. Fun facts resume next posting. Thank you for your comments. Lots of Love.


	146. Chapter 146

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 146

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

*Congratulations to Benedict Cumberbatch for winning best actor at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards. _Sherlock and Parade's End._

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

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**_Sherlock, series three, is currently being taped. There are shouts of joy all around the world. _**

*****. *** Warning for violence, drug reference **T rated** ****. ****

You know what I am going to say… Read all at once or a chapter a day.

Make yourself happy.

More soon.

It is a day late. I wanted to give you two more chapters. Lots of Love. Enjoy.

I need a rest and tea. :]

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part III…_

* * *

"**_...Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too_**." ~ Stephen King

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

He was somewhere cold and hard. There was a rocking motion.

Sherlock open his eyes into slits. His eyes rolled slightly as if he could not make up his mind if he wanted to become fully alert or pass out again. He tried to speak but his lips felt too heavy to move. He realized that his entire body felt heavy. He moaned as he tried to move his body but could only shift in uncoordinated floppy movements. His limbs felt as if they were made of lead, not flesh and bone.

He tried to open his eyes a little wider. He raised his eyebrows as if that act could help keep his eyelids opened. He blinked, bewildered. He was fairly sure that he had opened his eyes, but it was still dark. Confusion crowded his mind. He needed to keep his eyes opened, he just could not remember why.

He fought to stay awake. It only worked for a few seconds before heavy eyelids shut again.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**__****_Scotland Yard_**

**_Two Hours Earlier_**

This is the first time that it had worked. She watched as he walked out the door. The man almost seemed to be psychic, the fact that he did not notice that she was trying to follow him, surprised her.

In the past, she had tried to follow him twice with the same results. She remembered what he said the last time, with great detail. He had walked up to her with a smirk; and insulted her, while mentioning how Scotland Yard officers lacked the imagination to even follow a suspect without them knowing.

She almost missed his insults.

Almost.

The back of Holmes was turned to her. He stood for a moment still, and frozen, as humanity passed him by. His hands were in his pockets and his collar was turned up against the wind and weather. The black overcoat flapped sideways in none patterned waves. It had been raining on and off all day.

Sherlock turned his face sideways. Donovan could see his face again. He took out his mobile and looked at it. His normally stoic expression broke for a moment. Anger and something that looked like panic, flashed on his face. In a second, it was gone, and his normal bored expression returned. However, she had noticed.

He was texting now.

She frowned as she wondered. This was Holmes. She had seen him with guns pointed at him with a bored expression on his face. Holmes could not have panicked. That would have been entirely too… human. Still, an unpleasant sensation burrowed into her mind.

Holmes stopped and seemed to come to a decision. He turned away from her again. His long legs carried him to the edge of the curb. One hand swiftly rose. Donovan stayed hidden in a corner as she watched him hail a taxicab. Within a minute, a cab appeared. He climbed in and the cab blended into the heavy traffic.

Donovan felt that she needed to tell someone, but the press conference seemed to be lasting longer than expected.

Donovan thought about the facts and her options. Robert had left. He was not supposed to leave until later that evening. He did not sign-out. It was as if he wanted everyone to believe that he was still there in his office.

"Odd that." Donovan hummed quietly.

First, Anderson leaves then Sherlock follows close behind.

_It could be unrelated. _

_It was none of her business. _

_She could wait for Lestrade and tell him what she noticed in a casual way that did not make her appear to be a stalker._

She took a moment and examined the facts with the eyes of a detective. She made a decision. She was about to cross a line that could not be uncrossed. She picked up her mobile and dialed a number.

"In for a penny… In for a pound," Sally whispered, as she walked back toward the lift.

* * *

From across the street, a homeless teenager leaned against an alley wall. A few of them were assigned to keep an eye on Mr. Sherlock. Doctor Watson had said that it was important.

Her hood was pulled over her head. She went unnoticed. Most people tended to walk by her without seeing her.

She had witnessed what had taken place. Mr. Sherlock did not look like himself when he climbed into the cab. Her face contorted into a look of concern. She ran down the damp alley to find Milty or Buzz.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Time had no meaning. After a few seconds, or a few hours, he was not sure which; he regained consciousness again. His eyes were still closed. His mouth partially opened. He licked his lips.

Water.

He needed water. He was incredibly thirsty.

John.

John would get him water.

He weakly tried to call out. It turned into a slur.

"Jo…" He could not manage to speak the rest of his friend's name.

Sherlock frowned. Something was odd. His mind started to clear slowly as he struggled to open his eyes. He sensed someone near, above him. Was it John? John never came into his bedroom at night unless he was ill.

Was he ill?

That would explain why he was cold, and felt shaky, and thirsty, and a little confused even though he would not admit the last part to John.

He finally opened his eyes.

The fragmented thoughts in his mind, started to make connections. As he blinked, an image came into focus. He frowned as he stared at Anderson.

What was Anderson doing in his bedroom? Where was John? Why was he feeling so disconnected?

Sherlock stared about in confusion. He now realized that he was not in his bedroom, he was somewhere unknown to him. He was on a bed, in a small room sparsely furnished. The place looked as if it was not fit for a human to live in. He looked about before his eyes came to rest on Anderson's face. He frowned as he searched the Yarder's face. Anderson waited with uncharacteristic patience. The last of the confusion left.

Sherlock was on his back. He inhaled shakily as he tried to roll onto his side. He finally succeeded. He then attempted to push himself up, but a firm hand roughly pushed him back down onto the bed.

Anderson kept his hand on Sherlock's chest.

"I know what you're thinking. I've narrowed it down to two possibilities," Anderson raised his eyebrows. "Damn or Shite?"

Anderson smile widened. "Do you like?"

Sherlock's voice was unsteady. "You don't have the imagination to think of this on your own."

"What is this?" The Consultant Detective looked around and blinked, as his eyes adjusted to the onslaught of the artificial light.

"Revenge," Anderson's voice was almost friendly. "I can do anything I want to you Mr. Holmes…"

"Where am I?" Sherlock fought against the growing panic.

"… Anything at all…," Anderson locked eyes.

"Release me!" Sherlock weakened struggles increased.

"… But don't worry. I'm only going to break your mind." Anderson's finger ran across the top button of his shirt.

"You won't get away with this…" Sherlock's words died in his throat when he saw the syringe on a table. He saw no one from the warehouse but Anderson. Moran's men were gone. The three men who were with Anderson now, seemed to be ordinary criminals. One of the three men were preparing some liquid to be put into a syringe. In the hand of the second man, was a gun. The last of the three men looked like a drug addict.

Sherlock stopped struggling and became like stone. After a short time, he became aware of his lungs burning. He inhaled a shuddering breath. He had forgotten to breathe.

"I wish I had more time freak, I had every detail of this night planned. I was looking forward to it. But, you've ruined it. I have to leave soon. But don't worry; I'll be back. You're going to have four days worth of fun. I have to be seen in public, but I have to shower before I destroy you. Busy, busy, busy."

Anderson bent close to Sherlock's ear and whispered, "I must confess freak that I was concerned about explaining my injuries. Don't worry; my friends have worked it all out."

"I need witnesses to see me being kidnapped." Anderson pat Sherlock chest comfortingly. "Why you say? I need an alibi. I'm afraid you've spread my DNA around several places."

Anderson turned his head as he studied Sherlock. "I'm afraid the stress of the past few weeks has led to your relapse and drug use. Did you know that you went looking for drugs today. There are witnesses. Unfortunately, you were high as a kite. That's why you did not notice that someone followed you after you purchased the drugs. Someone who had a grudge against you. You've put so many people's families in prison. Many people hate you. It was a crime of opportunity, your kidnapping, I mean." Anderson gave a false frown.

"Unfortunately, I was kidnapped when I followed a lead and tried to find you. But, unlike you, I will escape with only a few injuries that you were kind enough to supply. I had a bad turn today, but the media love me. I'm a hero." Anderson gave Sherlock time to process his words.

He smiled at Sherlock. "I know it's a bit of a stretch, but I had to improvise. Of course, the evidence will support my version of events. Don't worry freak, everyone will believe me. I'm a good actor; remember?"

Anderson harshly pat Holmes face, in a mock gesture of comfort. He heard Sherlock's harsh breaths. "I have to explain the bruised face. I don't mind telling you all this, you'll won't remember or care soon enough. If you're still in your right mind four days from now, no one will believe you. Especially when they drop you, a former junkie, in an alley close to Scotland Yard. The media will happen to be there to capture _The Great Sherlock Holmes _as you stumble down the alley, half naked and high as a kite, with both arms full of needle marks."

Sherlock came to himself and started to struggle again. Anderson looked at him struggle. He enjoyed the useless movements.

Anderson had developed a taste for all things evil. He smiled as he started to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock's weakened struggles increased.

Two of the men walked toward Holmes. One smiled excitedly as he helped to remove Sherlock's shoes. The other man held a gun in his hand with a bored expression. He was not allowed to kill him, but he would shoot him in the arm if necessary. The third man was busy preparing the drug dosage.

Anderson finished unbuttoning Holmes shirt then stepped back to let the three men take over. He walked toward the bottom of the bed and looked, pleased. It was finally happening. He had the freak where he wanted him. A thrill ran through his body. He looked forward to the next four days.

Anderson looked at the struggling Consultant, and said almost tenderly. "Relax."


	147. Chapter 147

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 147

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

*Congratulations to Benedict Cumberbatch for winning best actor at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards. _Sherlock and Parade's End._

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****. *** Warning for violence, drug reference **T rated** ****. ****

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part III…_

* * *

**_"A ship is safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for._**"~ William Shedd

* * *

**_Three Hours Before._**

**_The Homeless Network_**

He was strong, a leader from the beginning. He looked out for everyone on this corner of London. Each area had a watcher, as they called themselves. And Mum, the oldest among them, was the leader of everyone.

He spotted the lone figure. Milty's mind wandered as he watched his brother walk up to him. He was not his brother by blood, but everyone in the network was family. They had no one that they could trust, or count on but themselves. There were a few exceptions. Mr. Sherlock was an exception, more recently, and so was Doctor Watson.

Milty watched as the older youth walked. His dark-gray hood was on, his head was down, and his hands were in his pocket. The light foot traffic made it easy for him to see him from afar. Something was wrong. If his shoulders were held any tighter, they would snap. He also noticed that Buzz's steps were quick, a little too quick. It lacked his normal, slow pace.

Milty's frown deepened as he waited. His own body stiffened in anticipation.

Buzz walked up to Milty and looked.

"What?" Milty asked as he leaned against the wall.

Buzz eyes peeked through long hair that covered his face "I heard some-im about Mr. Sherlock."

Milty said nothing, but gave a nod to encourage him to continue.

Buzz fingers moved the dirty blond hair that had fallen in front of his eyes again. "It's bad. We gotta give Doctor Watson a ring."

Milty nodded. "Jen's coming later to…"

"Nah." The normally quiet youth spoke up. Buzz looked at Milty, determined. "We need to give-im a ring, now."

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Two Hours Earlier._**

John sat back and laid his head against the seat of the taxicab. He ran two slightly calloused fingers distractedly over the slight stubble on his chin. He exhaled a breath. It sounded too loud in the enclosed space.

He felt his body shift from left to right as the automobile gently bumped and rocked while being driven. He attempted to rest his body, but his mind was alert. He thought deeply. He did not have much time. He had to reach Scotland Yard before Sherlock became bored and popped out on his own.

John glanced out the window. The buildings looked more neglected. The cab turned onto a new street. It continued to drive slowly in the current area. He had asked Sherlock's homeless network to keep an ear open, to any news of anything that sounded like it might concern Sherlock. John sighed again more dramatically now. He did not notice that his left hand was tapping his thigh rhythmically.

John's mind wandered, as he thought deeply.

Several persons from the homeless network had contacted him with troubling news. Jazz had informed him, that there have been two men who were unknown to the network, who was asking about information concerning Sherlock.

Everyone had pretended not to know him; a few had given nonspecific false information. The most troubling report from the network came today. He just left a meeting with Milty, and Buzz. They told him about those same men inquiring about Sherlock's past drug addiction.

John's mind wandered.

Sherlock had been clean for so long that the younger ones had never seen him high. A few of the older once knew him during his Uni days. During Uni, he had a six month period where he used regularly. He would even spend days with the homeless. During his worst period, a few of the older homeless, along with an older woman, whom many of the homeless referred to as 'Mum', took pity on the clueless kid, as they referred to him back then. They protected him from harm, and abuse. Several weeks later, several men, including one man who identified himself as his brother, found him. They carried the drugged, and sleeping young man away.

The homeless had not seen Sherlock again for five months. When they did, it was not drugs that he was seeking, he was giving out food, water, and blankets to those homeless who lived on the streets of London.

John turned to look out the window as his mind returned to the present.

John thought back to an earlier phone call from Sherlock. It had been cryptic. Sherlock had informed him that he would talk to him later at the flat. John had agreed with relief. Tonight when Mycroft came to the flat, they would have a talk with Sherlock. It was time to expose the secrets.

The ringing of his mobile interrupted his thoughts. John did not hide his surprise. He frowned as he picked his mobile phone up, "Yes Donovan?"

John listened for a moment in silence. He pursed his lips together. "I understand." John sighed. "Thank you, Donovan."

John thought for a moment and called Mycroft. He waited impatiently for the elder Holmes to pick up the mobile. When Mycroft did answer, John's voice was rushed and breathy. "Mycroft." John paused slightly, "I think we need to activate the tracker. How long will it take to activate it?"

_Mycroft voice came on the other line. "It's a global tracker, John. It will take a little over an hour. I can only activate it once. You know that Sherlock will never agree to another insertion. John I must ask you, are you sure? What has happened? We could simply trace his mobile."_

"The last time we traced his mobile. It was taken away from him, and used as a decoy. I have to be sure." John was unyielding. Something inside of him told him that time was something Sherlock did not have.

Mycroft did not agree, comment, or disagree. John heard him giving commands in the background. John knew that Mycroft was taking his request seriously.

John exhaled relieved.

"I have a bad felling Mycroft. Within the last three hours, I've had several people tell me that some men have been asking around about Sherlock among the homeless population." John knew he sounded paranoid. He did not care.

"_There is something else, John."_

"Donovan just gave me a ring. She has been keeping an eye on Sherlock today. During Lestrade's press conference, she noticed him leaving in a hurry." John hesitated again. "Anderson left directly before him."

A caller ID warned John that Sherlock was trying to reach him.

John frowned. "Wait, Sherlock is ringing me." John pushed a button and put Mycroft on hold while he answered the call.

"Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock's voice came in a broken pattern. Wherever he was, the mobile signal was weak. "**Sherlock!"** John tried again louder. Sherlock seemed to not be able to hear him. The line disconnected. He ignored the look of the cabby in the rearview mirror.

Sherlock had only said one word.

_John._

The one word was enough. The tone of Sherlock's voice convinced him of one thing. Sherlock was in trouble.

John would try to call Sherlock back, but the mobile signal was weak, he seemed to be unable to connect. He was determined to try again, but first he reconnected to Mycroft.

"Activate the tracker." John looked grim.


	148. Chapter 148

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 148

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

*Congratulations to Benedict Cumberbatch for winning best actor at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards. _Sherlock and Parade's End._

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****. *** Warning for violence, drug reference **T rated** ****. ****

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part III…_

* * *

"**_Well, remember what you said, because in a day or two, I'll have a witty and blistering retort! You'll be devastated THEN!"~_** **_Calvin & Hobbes_**

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

Anderson watched slightly away. He did not want to be hit again and Sherlock was still fighting. Worse, he was becoming slightly stronger . Anderson smirked. Maybe that fact would make things more interesting.

Sherlock was stripped of his shirt, shoes and socks. Only his trousers were still on. The trousers were pushed up to Sherlock's knees. One man was starting to have trouble holding him. He ordered the man with the gun to help him.

One of the men frowned. "I've examined his body. I don't see any needle scars anywhere, not on his arms or anywhere I looked. Not even in-between his toes. It is supposed to look like he injected himself. What do we do? Are you sure this is the drug he used to use?"

"No one would talk. It doesn't matter mate, does it? Just inject him already, he's starting to get stronger. There'll be plenty of needle puncture marks on his arms and in-between his toes soon enough."

The other man shrugged. "Hold his arm still."

The man had put his gun by the foot of Holmes, before he held Sherlock's left arm firmly. Another man tied a tourniquet to his left arm as the last man walked toward him.

One man held the syringe over a dilated vein. "Hold him still." He said with frustration.

After a brief struggle, the needle started to pierce Sherlock's skin. A small bead of blood rose. The man prepared to push the plunger down but was distracted by a noise.

Sherlock took advantage. He surged with adrenaline. He ripped his right arm free from its captor's hand, ripped the needle out of his left arm, and plunged it into the closes man's thigh. That took the last of his energy. He fell into semi-consciousness.

There were screams, gunfire, and a flash of bright light as the world around him exploded.

Time had no meaning.

Anderson lay on the floor disoriented. He never noticed the popping sounds that preceded the sound of flesh and bone being struck by a bullet.

One minute they were about to inject Holmes with the heroin, the next, there was a flash of light and a loud blast of sound. All he remembered, was coming back to his senses and flashes of colored lights dancing in front of his eyes.

Pain shot through Anderson's head like an arrow. He winced. He slammed his eyes shut as the blinding light overwhelmed his senses. Another sharp pain shot through his arms, as his body was tugged upright. He felt his body being dragged. It was only minutes before his brain was clear enough to process the shouting, and loud commands.

Anderson had been roughly deposited in a chair. An angry looking man in a suit was to his left, another to his right. They both looked at him. He noticed two things. The first was that they were not from Scotland Yard. The second was that, they did not look pleased.

Two of the three men who had been in the room, were on the floor dead. He could not see the third. One of them fell onto Holmes. The body was roughly pushed off him, and onto the floor. The last few moments were still a blur. One thought was on Anderson's mind. He hoped that the man had managed to inject the freak before he was shot.

Robert frowned, blinking as he looked around. His eyes found Holmes. He seemed unconscious. A tall man in a suit was walking toward the bed that Holmes lay on.

Mycroft slowly moved toward Sherlock with an undetermined look on his face. He looked down at his brother as he pulled his coat off. Before he covered him, Mycroft's eyes scanned him. He started at his head and traveled down to his toes. He stopped several times at different areas of his body.

Mycroft closed his eyes for a second as he exhaled relieved. Finally satisfied, he pulled his overcoat over his little brother.

Mycroft looked for his brother's light, black Belstaff wool overcoat. He spotted it in the corner of the room. It was crumpled on the floor next to his brother's shoes and other clothing. He would have someone clean it for his brother. He looked back at Sherlock. At that moment, Sherlock opened his mouth. He was fighting to regain consciousness.

Sherlock was a fighter. Mycroft almost smiled.

Almost.

Mycroft glanced at Anderson with murderous rage. He normally calculated, without emotions. He knew he had to be careful. It was a dangerous game that they played. The wager was high. Sherlock understood this. He would not void Sherlock's sacrifice by acting rashly.

Mycroft took a deep breath and , with difficulty, pushed the unfamiliar emotions back down, and locked them away. To anyone who was watching, it appeared as if Mycroft simply blinked. They would never know that he almost rammed his umbrella through Anderson's skull.

A weak moan drew Mycroft's attention back to his brother. Sherlock blinked several times as his mind tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

"M… Mycroft?" Sherlock whispered a slur. He blinked a few more times.

His lips came up to lick his dry lips. "W…Water."

With barely a nod, someone was running. Within minutes, Mycroft was cradling his brother's head in his arms, and assisting his shaking hands to hold the bottled water to his lips.

"Just a little," Mycroft said softly.

Sherlock locked eyes with his brother. He took one last sip and nodded. The bottle of water was taken away. Sherlock closed then opened his eyes, as he sighed contently. He had been so thirsty.

Sherlock resumed looking at his brother as he concentrated. There was something important that he had to say.

What was it?

Oh yes.

"The name of the third man is the Deputy Commissioner, Mike McKinley," Sherlock's words were slow but deliberate, in an effort to be clear.

Mycroft's voice was uncharacteristically gentle and soothing. He was careful to maintain eye contact. "Very good brother. You've saved us at least two weeks worth of surveillance. We'll discuss the fact that you were almost attacked in the most brutal ways for this admittedly important piece of information later."

Mycroft briefly looked away from his brother. He looked at an agent that was standing next to Holmes. The agent nodded and walked off as he pulled out his mobile.

The angry voice of John Watson was heard in the background. Mycroft sighed without losing eye contact with his brother. He briefly wondered if he should bother to argue or simply give John a gun.

Mycroft had not noticed that one hand had been rubbing soothingly on his younger brother's forehead. Sherlock was not aware that he had leaned into his brother's touch.

Sherlock's eyes had started to close again but opened when he heard John's voice. He attempted to lift his head in the direction of John's voice but could not find the energy. His eyes blinked wearily in the direction of John's voice before looking at Mycroft again.

"You said you would not get involved for four days." Sherlock's slurring was getting worse.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock with a ghost of a smile and said, "I lied."

Sherlock tried to return the smile, but lost consciousness before his lips turn upwards.

Mycroft continued to look at Sherlock when John came up beside him. He gently pressed two fingers to the side of the unconscious man's neck as he felt the carotid pulse. After several long seconds, John exhaled relieved.

"Do we know what he was given yet?" John asked as he examined his friend. "Please tell me it's not what I think."

"We do not know yet," Mycroft frowned. "I don't think it was heroin. The plunger is up and the syringe half full."

"Half?" John repeated. He looked with concern at the drying trail of blood from Sherlock punctured vein.

"I believe him to be unharmed, at least in that matter. He was clear of mind when he spoke. I think that Sherlock injected one of the men before they could inject him. This seemed to happen directly before the flash grenade was thrown into the room." He nodded toward the moaning ball of mess that laid still half-conscious on the floor, with pinpoint pupils.

They were both quiet for a minute as John further examined and assured himself that Sherlock would not go into cardiac, or respiratory arrest.

"You suspected that they might try to give him drugs, earlier." Mycroft looked at John with unusual respect.

"Sherlock gave me a ring. He told me generally, what was going on. Nothing specific. He said we would talk later. I have investigated on my own for a week now. I knew something was bothering Sherlock." John's face was deceptively calm, so was his voice. John's hand came to rest on Sherlock's forehead. He ground his teeth together. "His homeless network helped greatly. They trust, and respect him."

"You as well, apparently." Mycroft said.

John looked at Mycroft with an expression that said that he had never considered that point.

Their looks and expressions changed.

Mycroft and John locked eyes with each other. Mycroft allowed his guard to completely lower for John. Mycroft could almost see John's thoughts and John, Mycroft's intentions. They both ignored the two men that hovered. The men removed Mycroft's overcoat before they started to cut Sherlock's trousers. They covered him with a warming blanket. Medical supplies were being pulled out. Both men ignored all of this. Blood was taken, an IV started. Still, both men ignored everyone. Finally, Mycroft gave a slight nod. He noted to himself that he did not see Doctor Watson any longer, He saw Captain John Watson.

Both men, simultaneously, looked at Anderson.


	149. Chapter 149

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 149

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

*Congratulations to Benedict Cumberbatch for winning best actor at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards. _Sherlock and Parade's End._

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****. *** Warning for violence, drug reference **T rated** ****. ****

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part III…_

* * *

_**"**__**Revenge is a dish best served cold**__**" unknown  
**_

* * *

_**Current Day **_

_**Current Time**_

John narrowed eyes turned and looked at Robert Anderson who sat quietly in a chair. Two agents stood in front of him, one to his left, and the other on his right. The folded arms, and scowl on Robert's face had replaced the anger, insults, and cursing.

Anderson watched Watson as he whispered something to the disagreeable looking man in the suit. They both looked at him before Watson started to walk over. Anderson looked at an unconscious Holmes. Men in suits, worked around him with medical equipment. He watched as one of the men adjusted the flow of the IV fluids. The unpleasant looking man, stood next to Holmes while two people in suits, talked among themselves. They came to an agreement. The needle of an unknown drug, pierced the rubber IV catheter port.

Who were these men.

Robert fluctuated between panic and anger. His muscles tensed of their own accord, his breathing quickened as he looked toward the door that exited the room. One agent moved closer as if he could sense Robert's intentions. He would not make it. The freak was always trouble.

Watson had made his way over to him. He stood directly in front of the Yarder.

"I didn't do anything," Anderson muttered automatically.

He noticed that his breathing came even more quickly now. To his surprise, Watson pulled up a chair beside him and sat down. He crossed his legs and folded his arms. Anderson cast a wary glance at Watson. Anderson became more apprehensive.

John spoke with a deadly calm. "I just have a few questions. I've rather figured most everything out. Just confirm and we're done."

"For the sake of curiosity, if I do this." Anderson inquired with suspicion.

"You'll be at work tomorrow," John said calmly.

John Watson's look was offputting at best, terrifying at worse, but Robert would never admit that little fact. He refused to be intimidated. This was not Holmes, after all. What could mild, and meek John Watson do?

Anderson stood and towered over the smaller man. He cursed at John and threatened him. He reminded the room that he was a member of Scotland Yard. That he had a powerful friend. That if they knew what was good for them, they would release him. Anderson's own sense of importance had grown tremendously. The drugs, and his new found power fueled his rants, and threats.

Still, he was surprised that none in the room came to the defense of the smaller man; in fact, the man with the umbrella had a smirk on his face.

John stood calmly for the first time. He looked at Anderson and simply said, "Sit."

Anderson threw a kiss at John. "You can kiss my ar…"

Anderson never had a chance to finish his thought. He gasped in surprise as he found himself being forced into his chair, with his hands twisted behind his back. After being deposited roughly, he was let go. Robert noticed a painful throb to his nose. He put a hand to his nose and felt a small amount of moisture. He touched the moist area and looked at his hand.

It was red.

If everyone kept punching him in the nose, it would soon be deformed. He opened his mouth in shock. He never believed the man had the courage to actually hit him.

John sat back in front of him and said. "I know that you could not have done this on your own. I need the name of the person who supplied you with the men. I need you to confirm your plans for Holmes, and who instructed you to do what you did. I need the name of all those who are working with you. What happened here. What did you do to him physically and what were you bribing Holmes with?"

Anderson looked defiantly at John. He came up with a brilliant idea. At least it was brilliant in his drug influenced mind.

"I'm a victim here as well. We were both kidnapped. I overheard them talking. It had to do with the Bedford case." Anderson cautiously motioned toward the larger of the two dead men. "The drug dealers that Holmes put away was his brother, he died in prison last month. He was planning some revenge." He looked into Watson's eyes. "I think they must have given Holmes something. The poor man was confused. He actually thought that I was a part of this. But, look at me. I have more bruises on my face than Holmes." Anderson smiled, "Even though I do admit. The rest of that body of his, might be a bit… banged up." All the hatred he had for Holmes came out in his words. Still he had not admitted to anything.

John's expression never changed. He uncrossed his legs and sat without quietly in front of Anderson.

Anderson leaned toward Watson and whispered as he looked at Holmes. Men in suits were transferring Sherlock onto a trolley. "I don't know what they planned to do to Holmes, but I know that it was unpleasant. I heard one of them mention how pretty he was."

Anderson sat back satisfied at the tightening in Watson's jaws. He wondered when Scotland Yard would arrive. He would have to put on his best, _I am a victim, _face. He was one of them; they would believe him.

Watson turned away from him and looked at the tall, unpleasant looking man. He was standing and talking to the men that were about to take Holmes away. Watson and the man looked at each other without saying a word. The man gave a slight nod. Anderson realized, for the first time, that he had seen this man before. He was about to search his memory, but became distracted. A man in a suit ran over to Watson and gave him something before retreating.

All amusement left Anderson's face as he frowned. He raised his upper body in an attempt to discover what the object was. Anderson stiffened as he looked intently into the eyes of John Watson.

He opened his mouth to say something but could not find his voice. A cold sweat broke out as his heart started to race.

"You wouldn't," Anderson whispered.

John slowly continued to load the bullets into the gun.

Anderson heard a noise. He looked away from Watson. He noticed Holmes being wheeled away on a trolley with several men, and the tall man that Watson spoke to, following.

He blinked a few times.

He heard the distinct click of a gun, as it was click shut.

"I'm a police officer you can't just shoot me!" Anderson voice started in a whisper and rose in volume, cracking at the end.

Watson held the gun on one thigh. "We all do things that would shock most people if they knew about it, don't we." John's voice held no glee. It was solemn. "You should know that fact better than me, shouldn't you?"

Anderson said nothing but shook his head. The sensation of nausea increased. Anderson found it difficult to swallow.

John leaned toward Anderson and whispered in his ear. "Ask yourself a question. Do you really think this is the first time that I have killed to protect him. I don't mind telling you that. You'll never tell anyone."

A drop of sweat rolled down his back and forehead. Anderson felt nauseated. He looked at the men in the suits. They all seemed to be ignoring the exchange and the gun. He now realized that Scotland Yard was not coming.

Anderson looked into the eyes of John Watson, and saw the soldier. He saw a cold, calculating killer. If he had a voice, he would have laughed. Everyone believed that Holmes was the psychopath and Watson was the sweet, innocent assistant. He now saw the truth. Holmes would only shoot in self-defense. He was too... Moral. Watson had been the Psychopath the entire time.

Anderson felt something cold, and hard press against the side of his head. He blinked several times.

Watson held the gun to his head. When had he moved? He looked around again. Wasn't anyone going to do anything?

He heard the click of the gun.

Anderson thought that he had no voice. He was wrong. He never noticed as a scream tore itself from his mouth.

The sound was deafening. Black devoured him whole. He did not have time to plead, or beg, or rail in anger. In the end, there was no time.

Robert Anderson knew nothing.


	150. Chapter 150

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 150

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

*Congratulations to Benedict Cumberbatch for winning best actor at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards. _Sherlock and Parade's End._

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****. *** Warning for violence, drug reference **T rated** ****. ****

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part III…_

* * *

_** "There are always two choices. Two paths to take. One is wrong." **_Grace Freeman_**  
**_

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

The large auditorium was empty now. The last lecture of the day had taken place. The students' seating elevated gently from the podium, and the professor's desk, which remained at the lowest level. The projector screen was still down, and exam papers were scattered on the large desk. Thomas and Miranda sat at opposite ends of the long desk. Each was lost in the task of grading and giving a mark to the students' work.

Thomas smiled without noticing that he was smiling. That gained Miranda's attention. She looked at him with a knowing expression. She stopped her work for a moment.

She tried to gain Agent Blake Thomas' attention. "Mr. Smith is all well?" She tried to hide her smile at the ridiculous names that they had to call each other.

Agent Thomas stopped working and looked at Mrs. Holmes with questioning eyes. He spoke in a conspiratorial voice as he leaned toward her. "I believe so Professor Colville."

Mrs. Holmes was in a mood to tease the younger agent. "I only mention this because a certain young lady has walked past the door to the lecture hall three times now."

"Did she?" Thomas tried to ignore the obvious implication in her voice. He resumed reading the exams but they both knew that his attention was now divided.

"Oh yes, Blake." Miranda played along. She resumed reading the students' exams as well. She let a minute pass in silence before speaking again. "I've also noticed that you have that look on your face. That look that you get when you've solved a complicated case; or you've just apprehended a criminal that you've been chasing for quite some time."

Agent Thomas stopped altogether and looked at Mrs. Holmes with eyes that pleaded for her to _please behave_.

She smiled back with mischief, before her eyes traveled to the door to the room. A young woman walked by again. Her long curly hair fell in her face as she turned to give a quick glance in the room. The young woman noticed the professor, and Blake looking at her. She smiled at the professor, before smiling at Blake. She soon disappeared behind the door.

Miranda's eyes travel back to Thomas. Her eyes were amused. "Well, there she goes again. She's very health conscious. Getting exercise I suppose."

Thomas stared at the door a little longer than necessary before looking back at the exams.

He felt the touch of a hand on his. Miranda's touch was soft yet determined. He looked into Mrs. Holmes eyes. Her eyes had a gentleness to them. But if one looked beyond that gentleness, there was an intelligence and steel like strength, which only came when a life that had seem times of joy and times of great pain, was lived. He was fond of her.

Miranda smiled. "I'll finish up. You have an hour before we have to leave. William is looking forward to pretending that you're a pony again."

Thomas gave a slight chuckle at the notion. Thomas remembered how painfully shy the young child had been when he first came. The youngest Holmes would quietly make his way around the villa. Back then, he had seemed to constantly examine everyone. He had a stare that was frightening. It was almost as if he was looking into the soul. But now, he was the master of the house. William was definitely a hand full. He preferred running to walking. He explored every area. He had a laugh and a smile that was infectious. William was liked by all the agents, and staff. Thomas smiled. He was definitely a happy child. Thomas wondered if that was how a much younger Sherlock Holmes was.

Thomas' thoughts returned to the present. He looked at Mrs. Holmes with affection.

"Off with you then," She said as she gestured toward the door. She thought it best if Mycroft did not know about Thomas' attraction. She loved her eldest son, but anything beyond duty was difficult for him to comprehend.

Agent Thomas sighed as he raised his body. He held out his hand. Mrs. Holmes gave her mobile to him. He pushed in a code and activated a tracker. He wordlessly gave it back before speaking. "Do not leave this building. Text me if you're going to leave this room and tell me where you're going to be."

"Thomas," he raised an eyebrow at her slip of using his real last name, "I mean Blake, don't you think that you're being slightly over vigilant? I've been perfectly safe here for quite a while."

Thomas folded both arms and looked at her as his expression was easily read.

Miranda exhaled dramatically and nodded her head in agreement.

Thomas studied her eyes for a few minutes before he put his mobile phone in his back pocket. He started to walk. He nodded a greeting to the middle-aged secretary as he walked out the door.

The secretary smiled and walked over to Miranda and sat down. She wordlessly put two coffees down before speaking. "Finishing up?" She glanced at the number of exams that Professor Colville still had in a neat pile.

Miranda pushed the exams aside and picked up the coffee. "Close to," she commented contently as her hands closed around the warmed paper cup. Swirls of steam dissipated gently in the air. She closed her eyes, as she smelled the pleasant aroma.

Miranda took the coffee and took a sip. She smiled her thanks at the woman she considered a friend, a friend that did not even know about her true past. At least, as close to a friend as she could have under the circumstances. Miranda sighed and took another sip. "What about you?"

The secretary adjusted her large frame into the chair before answering. "Yeah, all done." She turned toward the door, motioning with her head. "I know where he's off to."

Miranda raised her eyes but said nothing. She knew when her friend was in a mood for gossip.

The secretary adjusted her body again, before crossing her legs and leaning back slightly. "Not that you heard it from me, but those two are quite an item."

Miranda pretended not to know what her friend was referring to. She refused to gossip about Thomas.

The secretary rolled her eyes at Miranda as if she was a slow child. She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Abigail and your assistant." Her eyes wrinkled with impatience. "You couldn't have missed the way they look at each other." She sat back now. "I knew it mind. It was just a matter of time. They're both smart, and that Abigail is pretty enough, and that boy of yours is certainly easy on the eyes. If I was younger…" The secretary took a sip without finishing her thought.

The silence did not last long. "I am surprised that he left you alone. You two almost seemed to be joined at the hips…"

Miranda half listened to her friend as she prattled on. She did not know why her friend's words bothered her. She knew Thomas for years now; he was like family. She wanted him to have a relationship, to find someone to love, and be loved back. She thought there was nothing greater. She also knew the wrong person could ruin one's life.

Abigail was smart, friendly, and seemed to care about Thomas a great deal. The timing was not the best, but everything else seemed perfect. Miranda glanced at the door and frowned. Abigail appeared to be the perfect young woman.

That is why Miranda could not explain why, when she thought of Thomas being with Abigail, she could not find peace.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He opened his eyes slowly. He ran his tongue across his teeth and frown. His mouth tasted as if something had died in it. Twice. He sat up moaning before leaning back on the lounge sofa. He sniffed. There was a pungent odor; the scent was so offensive that it seemed to be a living thing. He sniffed again before looking down. For the third time he sniffed, this time, his clothing. He realized with horror that the odor was coming from him.

He cursed with a small smile. What happened? He must have been on a real bender. He searched his mind as he looked around. Horror came to him when he realized where he was.

He cursed again. This time there was no amusement on his face but something different.

Panic!

How did he get there? He would be ruined if he could not get out without being seen, but how could he do that? Anyone who saw him would think that he had been in some drunken, bloody brawl at a pub.

Anderson stood too quickly and staggered slightly. His hands reached for the wall. He thought of a solution but could find none. The panic rose steadily.

"Damn it to the bloody, bleeding depths of hell!" He hissed as he touched his sore jaw and swollen nose.

"Think!" Anderson hissed as he started a staggered pace.

"**Think!"**

Anderson froze mid-stride as he heard the door open. He could not try to hide the look of horror, which his face held, when he heard the same door close. The laughter that came from behind him, died down instantly.

He swallowed the lump that seemed determined to stay in his throat. He slowly turned around. In the room was the shocked and angry face of Greg Lestrade. His body language and folded arms relayed his disappointment.

Behind him was John Watson. He had a subtle smile on his face. Only Anderson could see the smile because he stood slightly behind Lestrade.

Yesterday evening came back to Anderson in full clarity and detail. The last thing that Anderson remembered was the sound of a gunshot.

He must have... Oh God... He fainted.

Roberts face flushed with horror, embarrassment, and anger. The soldier bastard did not kill him after all. When Robert had looked into Watson's eyes, he had been so sure that the man was capable of anything. Watson apparently thought that humiliation was a more fitting punishment.

He glared at Watson with hate. Lestrade noticed and turned toward John. The self, satisfied look, that he gave to Anderson disappear instantly when Lestrade looked at Watson. He now looked at Lestrade with surprise.

So, thought Anderson, he was not the only one who was a good actor.

The way Anderson and Watson had looked at each other. If looks could have killed. Both men would have been dead.


	151. Chapter 151

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 151

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

*Congratulations to Benedict Cumberbatch for winning best actor at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards. _Sherlock and Parade's End._

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****. *** Warning for violence, drug reference **T rated** ****. ****

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part III…_

* * *

"_**It's choice-not chance-that determines your destiny.**__**"**_

~ Jean Nidetch

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Lestrade rubbed his head. Anderson was full of accusations and excuses. He would not admit to any attack on Holmes. The entire situation was unbelievable. He looked at Anderson. He suspected a little bullying of Holmes, but would he go as far as attacking him? This had to be handle with care. John did not want most of the facts to be known beyond the people in the room. He was not sure why but he trusted John. He would do everything in his power to honor the request.

Greg looked into the eyes of Robert Anderson and saw the face of the insecure young officer he was when he first joined the Yard. He felt out of body slightly. This was a bloody mess.

"…You have no proof. I was kidnapped, I told you. Look at my face. I have never touched Holmes no matter what you say. Produce some kind of evidence right now or write a reprimand for my appearance and the false accusations that I am drunk and let me go!"

Anderson knew that Watson could not say that he rescued Sherlock from a house without revealing the fact that two men were shot, and he threatened his life with a weapon. He would go to prison but so would Watson.

Watson is a fool. He should have killed him. If the situation was reverse, he would have.

"I have something to add Sir," Donovan's voice was low and quite, yet there was a determination to it.

Everyone was suddenly quiet. Anderson looked hopefully to Donovan. He had confided in her yesterday in an attempt to rekindle their relationship. He knew deep in his heart that Sally would never side with the freak against him. He smiled a small smile, as he glance triumphantly at Watson. Watson was expressionless.

"I have firsthand knowledge that everything that Doctor Watson accused him of is accurate. Yesterday, he confessed that he had possession of key evidence, and kept it for his personal use. He invited me to view it with him in an…intimate setting. He has also used it as a tool for the extortion of Mr. Holmes, who is the victim of abuse. I also have personal knowledge of a suspicious event the night that I dropped and retrieved Mr. Holmes from a crime scene. When I dropped him off, there were no physical injuries, when I came back later, he was bruised and disheveled. He also moved as if he was injured. There was no one present except Rober… I mean Mr. Anderson." She was proud of herself. Her voice did not break once. Donovan knew that she had to continue.

"Sir, I've let my own feelings cloud my judgment. I once thought Mr. Anderson incapable of harming another person. I have since changed my opinion."

Lestrade looked grim. "I see, thank you Sergeant Donovan."

Anderson was dumbfounded for a second before he spoke. Anger, confusion, hurt, and betray wrestle in his mind for attention and priority.

"Everyone is against me!" Anderson whined. He stopped and suddenly looked at Watson. If he was going down. Watson would be his cellmate in prison. "He attacked me!"

Greg cursed in his mind. That would explain a lot. He had to find a way to downplay John's involvement. "Robert, are you saying that a civilian overcame a trained member of Scotland Yard, and thrashed you? Are you sure you want to make that official."

"Are you saying that John Watson not only beat you up, but he somehow, spirited you away from your home. Force alcohol down your throat to frame you. Then, Robert…, then he magically deposited you in the middle of Scotland bloody Yards, somehow escaping the notice of the security camera?" Lestrade voice rose at the end. "Should we ignore the security camera image of you staggering in drunk?"

"YES!" Anderson said passionately. His face turned a shade of red, his body was starting to become covered in droplets of sweat.

John sat quietly in the corner. He was a perfect picture of innocence.

Anderson was starting to rant. His mouth ran ahead of his brain. His body started to shake with a growing panic.

A manic laugh came from Anderson. "I know what you're thinking. I used to think the same thing." He paced the floor as his body movements became increasingly animated. "Innocent face. All manners. Don't be deceived. Don't let the fluffy jumpers fool you."

Anderson pointed an accusing finger at John. "**That man is a menace**!"

Everyone was quiet. The tension in the office could almost be physically felt. Anderson seemed to be disintegrating before everyone's eyes. John had been quiet throughout. He sat back with crossed legs and his hands folded neatly in his lap. He tilted his head as he looked at Anderson. Anderson stared back with hate filled eyes.

John's voice broke the silence. He never broke eye contact with Anderson. "As a doctor, might I recommend a full psychological evaluation, for possible sectioning?"

Anderson took two steps toward Watson before abruptly stopping. It was not Lestrade voice of warning. The truth was, he did not even hear Greg; it was the look in the eyes of John Watson that gave him pause.

He suddenly felt like he had to strike back in some way. He had to wipe the satisfied look off Watson's face. It was suddenly more important than breathing. An evil smile came on his face. In the back of his mind, he wondered why it was so hot. His body seemed to be dripping with sweat.

"He moaned." Anderson watched satisfied as John's faced broke. The calm facade that he wore on his face disappear. He looked grimly at Anderson. He clinched his jaws tightly shut. Anderson's smile widened.

"The great Sherlock Holmes. I manage to wipe that satisfied look off his face." Anderson sat down opposite Watson as he looked him in the eyes. He acted as if he was having a private conversation with him. Everyone and thing but Watson seemed to fade away.

"You asked me what I did? I'm ready to tell you. I hurt him. He tried to fight, you would have been proud of him. It's too bad about those headaches he has, are they migraines? It was easy to subdue him when it came on. My cousin had migraines, nasty business. I'm not ashamed to admit that he's stronger than me. I was worried for a moment, but then the headache came like a blessing." Anderson laughed. "All I had to do after that was," Anderson flexed his leg in demonstration, "kick him down the stairs."

Anderson leaned toward John. John was like a statue except for his rapid breathing. "You should have seen him Doctor, laying there moaning trying to reach his mobile when he could barely move. I couldn't have him ringing you up now could I, it would spoil my fun. I handcuffed him and dragged him to the other room. We had fun, well, if might be more accurate to say that I had fun."

Anderson lowered his voice. "He was disoriented with pain. He was saying something. I couldn't understand what it was, so I lowered myself to the floor. Do you want to know what it was?"

Watson said nothing. He refused to lose eye contact. "He was calling for you. John… John... John…, just that one word over-and-over in a weakened moan." He looked at Watson with a mock look of pity.

John chest stopped rising and falling for a few seconds as he closed his eyes. The grinding of his teeth was audible. A thrill raced through Anderson's body.

"He kept calling for you. I don't even think he realized that he was repeating your name, such a proud fellow, isn't he. But you never came, did you. You didn't care enough. You let me hurt him, it's your fault really, isn't it then."

"I kicked him, punched him, beat him but my favorite part doctor was when I sat on his body and strangle him. You should have seen the panic on his face. He thought that I was going to rape him," Robert laughed manically, "I would have, that's quite a body he has," Anderson whistled, "I should know, I peeked. But, unfortunately, there was no time. I had to be satisfied with his weaken body trying to fight me off. I whispered sweet words in his ears while I strangled him over, and over, and over. Sorry, I can't tell you what I said, a gentleman never tells." He winked at John.

John rose so quickly his chair fell to the ground. Anderson was so busy laughing; he just now noticed that Lestrade was holding Watson back. He did not even notice that Lestrade had moved.

Anderson's laughter died an instant death.

Anderson blinked a few times. His rational mind returned. Lestrade, Sally. What had he done?

For the first time in minutes, he noticed that he was not alone with Watson. Worst, the door to Lestrade's office was open. Several officers were in the room, and standing just outside the door. The normally voice-filled office, was eerily quiet. the only sounds were the voices of Lestrade who was giving orders, and Watson who was demanding to be released. Officers were helping to hold Watson back. When did they come in? Did they hear what he said, if so, how much?

Time seemed to jump.

Watson was no longer trying to advance on him, but he was gesturing toward him with demands that he be arrested.

Arrested?

Arrested?

His mind seemed to not be able to process that thought. He was the one who arrested people. He was not the one to be arrested.

Ridiculous. They would never just arrest a senior officer. Not without proof… Anderson inhaled sharply. His stomach twisted. The videotape.

He broke out into a cold sweat.

They would not actually search his house, would they? Even if they did? They would never find it. The audiotape was not a concern, but, the videotape? Why had he kept it? He knew why he kept it, he admitted to himself angrily, so that he could watch it. He enjoyed watching it. He had each scene memorized.

* * *

Several small groups of Yarders huddled together and whispered.

If anything, the room just outside of Lestrade's office was even more crowded with people. Gossip at the Yard traveled fast.

* * *

Lestrade's office seemed increasingly hot, and where was the air?

Sweat was soaking into his wrinkled clothing. Robert reeked of old sweat, alcohol, and something else that he could not quite identify. For the first time in minutes, he remembered the stench.

He swallowed.

He was a member of Scotland Yard. They would not arrest him over the freak, would they. Half the members must have wanted to wipe the smug smile off of Holmes face at one time or another. He looked for sympathy.

Some eyes turned away from him when he looked. Others stared straight at him, but they communicated disgust, shock, anger, and one or two, pity.

He looked at Watson.

Watson's arms were folded as he watched him quietly. He did not try to hide the anger or the disgust.

Anderson blinked. One corner of his mouth came up into a humorless smile. It left quickly as he swallowed the lump that seemed to not want to leave from his throat. He did not look at Sally.

Lestrade was telling him his rights robotically.

His rights?

He knew them already. He is an officer.

Was he still an officer?

Lestrade did not look please or happy, but a bit sad and shocked. Greg had considered him a friend. He took care of him when he was a new, young, and scared officer. He was more than a boss; he had befriended him. What would he have thought of him, if he knew that he had agreed to betray him, frame him, have him hurt, have him arrested; all in exchange for Holmes. Holmes, who never claimed to be Lestrade's friend, had put himself in danger to save Lestrade, and Greg did not even know it.

A memory of them laughing together in a pub, after work, invaded his mind. He glanced into the eyes of a man he once called a friend. He turned away quickly for the first time, ashamed.

Why was it so bloody hot?

He did not notice that his body started to shake.

He let out a gasp as something bit one wrist. He was saying something, but he couldn't understand his own words. His arm was put behind him and something cold wrapped around his other wrist.

Handcuff?

Dear God. This was real. **This was real**.

He felt a little nauseated.

"Sally," he whispered in shock. For the first time defeat laced his voice. He looked at her now. She looked back. Her arms were wrapped around her defensively. Her eyes held tears that she refused to let fall.

She looked into Robert's eyes. Those eyes that she had gazed into with love and affection so many times before. It was like a train wreck with broken bodies laid about. She did not want to look, yet her mind would not obey when she willed herself to _turn, look away_.

Her heart was breaking for the man she knew, used to know, maybe never knew.

"Take him away," Lestrade said in a steady, emotionless voice.

Robert stiffened. He hoped that he was sweating profusely all over his body.

Robert Anderson felt the moisture again. He realized that the wetness felt the greatest in his crouch area. A twinge of embarrassment blossomed into shock as the growing realization of what was happening hit his fragile mind full force.

Anderson seemed unable to stop himself as the wetness, turned into a stream, then a river. He felt it running down his legs, soaking into his socks, then shoes, dripping on the floor.

His light colored trouser soaked in the yellow liquid, becoming stained with his shame.

As he was being lead away, Robert wondered where the loud, broken sort of sound, was coming from.

* * *

The young officer stood in the corner.

A group of herself, and five of her coworkers, were suddenly quiet. She was still shocked from the gossip that she heard about Doctor Anderson. He had apparently stolen evidence, falsified documents, and used drugs on Scotland Yard property. There was even talk that he physically attacked someone. Most people thought that it was Sergeant Donovan, because she rejected his advances. Everyone noticed the way he seemed to not be able to take his eyes off of her.

All eyes suddenly turned toward the DI's office. Three men emerged. Robert Anderson normally dressed professionally. He had been known to turn the heads of a few female Scotland Yarders. That is why the spectacle of Anderson's clothing and wet trousers were a shock to most.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been fascinating to watch the deconstruction of a mind. To watch reason and logic tumble like pieces of a building that was falling. The crash of it could almost be felt by all.

But this held no joy.

The young officer stood silently. The image of Doctor Anderson being lead away, while weeping like a baby, was burned into her mind.


	152. Chapter 152

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 152

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

*Congratulations to Benedict Cumberbatch for winning best actor at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards. _Sherlock and Parade's End._

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

*****. *** Warning for violence, drug reference **T rated** ****. ****

"… _Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."_

… _The Fall… Part III…_

* * *

_**The devil has no power ... except in the dark".**_ ~ Cassandra Clare, _City of Bones_

* * *

**Note**_**:** Ne me razočarati_. means, _Do not disappoint me_ in Serbian

_**Current Day**_

_**Early Morning**_

_**Tirada, Albania**_

It had been a long drive from the hotel. The _Rogner Tirana Hotel_ was located on Tirana's main boulevard. It was close to the Ministry of Finance, the Presidential Palace, Apollonia restaurant, as well as all the important Embassies. It was a modern area with businesspersons, and international travelers.

His body gently rocked back and forth, as the vehicle moved. His eyes were closed behind the sunglasses, his head lay back on the leather seat. The ear buds of an iPod pressed firmly into his ears, as the soothing tones of Mozart rose gracefully, yet silent to all, but the man in the gray suit.

The part of the city that they drove through now, was older. He had been traveling for some time. The modern landscape had slowly transformed. The brick buildings in their current area were much older than those who were living inside them.

The Mercedes Benz drove through narrow brick laid roads. The streets lay in between the varied, dull colored buildings. The structures had been re-mortared because of damage in times of war, and because of age in times of peace. The motor car turned and entered a new area. More colorful cafés and small businesses lined the lower level of the buildings that were now being passed. A few persons, mostly men, walked about, or sat talking as they ate their food.

Within minutes, the Benz made a sharp, right turn. The motorcar entered an area where the streets were even more narrow. The Benz came to a stop.

A large man hurried over to the door of the back seat and opened it.

The air outside was a strange combination of muggy yet chilled. The man in the suit removed his iPod and gave it wordlessly to the large man as he looked around. He now looked at the door of the building that he would soon enter. He started to move. Two men exited the motorcar, as they scanned for threats and potential dangers. The man in the suit face betrayed his boredom.

They walked toward the door.

A slightly bent over, older man slowly made his way over to the small table. His body swayed slightly from side to side. His gait was odd and stiff, especially when he moved quicker. He seemed to use his arm to help propel his body forward. The humble dwelling had a few scatted pieces of well-made but worn furniture.

"Please," the older man said in English. His thick accent and deep voice reverberated in the small space. He gestured with a wave of his hand to the wooden chair.

The distinctive tap of alligator skin, Louis Vuitton shoes echoed as it struck the cement floor. The shoes cost more than the entire furnishings of the humble abode. The opulence of the designer suit, the shoes, and the man himself; seemed out of place in the humble surroundings and brought a vileness to the place.

He sat on the chair without even a glance or concern for it being clean. His brilliant mind was focused on other matters.

A suitcase was the only object on the thick wooden table. The man in the suit looked at the suitcase and glanced at the older man who was standing with one hand on the table for physical support.

The man in the suit raised an eyebrow. "You did well."

"Thank you, Sir," the older man said as he shifted his weight slightly. He looked into the eyes of the younger man in the suit, before looking at the table again. The man never gave a compliment. He briefly wondered if he would find a bullet in his back instead of the money promised.

He shifted again as he held on more firmly to the table, and grimaced. He needed to sit down but he did not trust to do so in the man's presence.

The man in the suit looked at him amused. He seemed to notice his physical discomfort, and mental unease. It was as if he found his discomfort amusing.

"Is everything in place?" The man in the suit knew the answer, but he found it amusing when normal people tried to lie.

The older man frowned but spoke truthfully. "Not yet Sir, but it will be very soon, weeks at the most."

There was a moment of silence when the man in the suit seemed to almost look through him. The older man held his gaze. He looked grim.

The man in the suit brown eyes seemed to darken."Ne me razočarati."

The older man gave a slight shift of his head down then up.

The man in the suit nodded, and one of the men put his hands in his suit as he walked up to the older man. The older man tensed and prepared himself.

The older man sighed with relief when he saw that the object was not a gun. He watched as a small piece of metal was put in his hand.

The older man took the key. It would open a safety deposit box. He would find his usual cash payment inside. It was always an ungodly amount of money. It was never for him, but for his granddaughter. She was sick. He tried to justify his actions with this thought; however, it was becoming harder to ignore the deep crimson that stained his once clean hands. He frowned as he deposited the key securely into his trouser pocket.

Moriarty walked out carrying the suitcase. He did not give it to his men as he normally would. It was too critical to the years of planning that would climax in several weeks. A small smile graced his face, as the back door of the Mercedes was opened then closed.

The older man watched through the window. The film of dirt distorted the figures, and the car. He watched the silver colored car pull onto the narrow brick road, then disappear from view.

The older man turned as quickly as his body would allow. He slowly lowered his graying head. He looked at the floor. He was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of shame.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading. Thank you for your comments. Lots of Love.

_Fun Question:_ "I can do anything I want to you Mr. Holmes, anything at all…" Which episode of Sherlock did this line come from.

**Stop reading now unless you want a hint.**

Still there, okay. It is found during the last fifteen minutes of one of the following.

Choices:

1. Pilot , A study in Pink

2. A Study in Pink

3. The Blind Banker

4. The Great Game

Have Fun :)


	153. Chapter 153

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 153

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

*The first episode of Sherlock Series three is called the Empty Hearse. Thanks Voldemort101.*

**Thank you for your recent post:** mvignal (Thanks for your comments. I hope that you are well.), socalrose (Thanks for the multiple post. Put your dull spoon away, but keep it close.), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. Get some tea love and enjoy.), HC (I am glad that you enjoyed the chapters. Moriarty ahead.), bruderlein (I agree that killing Anderson would have been too easy.), Kitiara88 ( Good guess. You're welcome for the quick update. More ahead I hope you enjoy.), kassandwich (More ahead. I hope that you are ready.), Esstell (Enjoy the read. :) ), Bookworm Gal (Good guess. You make a good point about John. He is the dangerous one.), hjohn302 (Thanks for your multiple post. Thanks love. Your word are always so encouraging.), lizzie1250 (You are correct. More ahead. :) ), nourss (Some answers ahead. Get ready.), Voldemort101 (Thanks for the information and help. :) ), gemstone1234 (I am glad that it was worth the wait. More ahead love.), Guest one (Calvin and Hobbes can be quite enlightening, _Clears throat,_ or maybe I just like them.), Guest two (There is no such thing as too emotionally invested. _Clears throat again._ ) Guest three (Thank you for the multiple chapters. I am glad that Anderson's ending was satisfying.), Catie501 (Thanks for the multiple post. I am glad that you enjoyed the chapters.), danishprince (The only thing better than fluffy jumpers, is the soldier who wears them.), Natalia (thank you love, here is more. sexypurpleshirt ( I am glad that you liked it. More ahead.), Esstell (It is a hair raising chapter that you are on. Tea and biscuits are recommended.). To all other guest and PM's, thanks.

Thank you ; kamelion, Kelllie, nourss, Me And The Time Vortex, deaka, goanago, Whosawesome, Rouge Singe, Nourss, goanago, Lillkin, It's-Somebody, lizzie1250, Dawnfire11, RiverSong11, georgiporgiepuddingandpie, . , e la mucca salto sulla luna, kassandwich, T're Urvawi, lizzie1250, Kelllie, Sdale05, jack63kids, kassandwich ,macgyvershe, cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.

*****. *** Warning drug reference **T rated** ****. ****

More soon.

Lots of Love.

******The answer to last week's fun question is #1. Pilot- A study in Pink. There were several good guesses. This one was difficult.

**Congratulations:** Socalrose, bruderlein, kassandwich, hjohn302, lizzie1250, nourss, Voldemort101, gemstone1234, Catie501 and Natalia. That was brilliant!

"…_One trick is to put your king between the enemy's king and pawn-that's often enough for a draw. But do calculate a few moves ahead, because there's a big difference between __drawing__ and __almost drawing__.__."_

… _Drawing_ _or_ _almost drawing I_…"

* * *

_**"Pawns: they are the soul of this game, they alone form the attack and defense"**_**  
**~Philidor, quote about chess

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

The lines of the setting sun blurred and mixed with the yellow lazy haze of the atmosphere. Thin lines of dark gray clouds broke up the haze at set points in the sky. The United States Naval Aircraft Carrier rode the waves off the coast of San Diego, California. The large vessel rode the waves of the Pacific Ocean, as it headed out toward international waters.

The Admiral watched the man closely.

The man in the dark-blue suit walked on the deck of the naval carrier. His sunglass-clad eyes, gazed at the gray colored military fighter jets, as a steady northern breeze, blew. He walked slightly behind the secured fighter jets. Although it was kept quiet, some of the aircrafts had short-ranged nuclear capabilities. Several pairs of eyes followed the man. Several more glanced in his direction, and then quickly looked away. The sailors were used to men in suits, NSA, CIA, or a combination of agencies that were only rumored to exist. The inspectors, observers, visitors; whatever they were, always had impressive titles.

The British Government, America, Germany, along with several other countries, both major and several small but important ones, were all taking place in the practice exercises.

Five hours earlier, the Admiral had received the cryptic orders. He and his men were to set sail for an unknown destination. The Admiral would be told of their destination, only when they had reached international waters. He had done practice exercises many times before, but something about this one set his mind on edge, and caused his heart to beat a little faster.

The Admiral continued to watch the man as he looked carefully around the vessel. The man in the suit had already been through all the data. The man had spent hours going over every detail of the large vessels daily function, operation, and capabilities. The man was a strange one. The Admiral thought that he knew most of the regular observers, but not him. He was apparently taking the place of Evans. The poor man had a heart attack and died three days ago. The Admiral had known Evans for years. He was a good, and fair man.

The water was becoming more choppy. The vessel was starting to rock back and forth more. It was time to take the guest inside. He was not sure what the man was doing just staring at the fighter jets and looking at the flight deck for so long. It was almost as if he was memorizing the vessel.

The Admiral sighed impatiently. He put both hands in his uniform trouser pocket. The cool wind blew again and cooled his face. He took a deep breath and smelled the salt of the sea. It calmed his impatience slightly. The sea always did that for him. With Evans as the exception, those men from Washington were all a little strange in his opinion.

The Admiral watched impassively as they crossed into international waters. His secured mobile gave a special buzz to notify him of an incoming message. It was for his eyes only. Within minutes, the encrypted message was on his phone screen. He carefully hit several keys in the sequence that was memorized. The seasoned soldier frowned before carefully wiping all expression from his face.

The admiral looked at the man in the suit. He seemed to be finish doing whatever he was doing. He was simply watching the last rays of the sun disappear as it set.

The Admiral thought about the decrypted message. A chill ran through the Admiral, as he watched the man in the suit finally turn and walked toward him.

What the admiral did not know, was that in twenty-two countries around the world. On the ground, in the ocean, and in the air, various commanding officers were on alert. They had received the exact same message at the exact same time. The message once decrypted was short and to the point. The message caused their hearts to beat faster and their minds to race.

Yet, in truth, it was only two words. **Activate J.A.N.D** (Joint Arsenal and Nuclear Defense,) otherwise known to a chosen few as…

Project Lazarus.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

They started to drive the moment the door closed_**. **_Mycroft sat across from John. He had to take a few minutes to steady himself. He was still angry and if he was honest, a little shaken from the meeting with Lestrade and the vile man, Anderson. It took every ounce of discipline not to attack the man right then and there.

John almost said the words, _it's done_. It would have sounded dramatic, but he knew that Mycroft could tell by one look on his face.

Instead, he said, "The security camera was a nice touch. Should I even ask you how you showed Anderson walking in, or moved him in there without being seen?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows slightly. "That was rather a nice touch, was it not?"

John looked at the elder Holmes and now understood why Sherlock used to call him, "… the most dangerous man that you will ever meet…" If it was not for his strong love for England, and strong sense of principle, John had often thought that Mycroft had the potential to be more dangerous than even Moriarty.

"I just thought I'd say again how happy I am that you're on our side." John tried to smile. So did Mycroft. It was flat and hollow. There was a moment of silence before John repeated what Lestrade told him.

"The Yard found adequate grounds for disciplinary action based on the fact that Anderson withheld evidence, falsified documents, and was in possession of key evidence. Anderson was found to be not only negligent but have criminal intent."

John knew that Mycroft most likely already knew what he was saying, but he needed a distraction. "Anderson tampered with key Forensic evidence in a case that had international implications. He's behind bars now, there is to be a trial, but there is no doubt that he will be convicted and imprisoned for a long time. Sherlock stays completely out of it. He won't even be mentioned in the reports."

Mycroft Smartphone buzzed. He wordlessly took it out and read an incoming text as he opened an e-mail.

The former soldier looked at Mycroft. He understood the familiar expression. Critical information was coming to Mycroft, and was being issued from the same man. The elder Holmes had not said a word, yet, John knew that he not only heard everything he had said, but he could repeat it back to him verbatim, and tell him what he had for breakfast.

John looked more intently into Mycroft seemingly bored face. He had become proficient at reading the Holmes brothers. No one but Sherlock and he would notice, but Mycroft was tense. There was something happening, that Mycroft found unpleasant. And, it had nothing to do with Sherlock. Between Sherlock's abduction and the incoming text, Mycroft was stressed.

John smiled without humor. Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock would ever admit to that stress.

He waited patiently as he practiced his deductive skills.

Mycroft's fingers moved furiously across the keys of his secured Smartphone. John had noticed the absence of Anthea. At first, he thought it was to give them privacy to discuss Sherlock, but that was out of character. Anthea, and Agent Thomas were the only two people that were in Mycroft's inner circle, with Mary Myers close outside that circle.

John knew some of the facts but not all. Whatever had been of concern to Mycroft lately, Sherlock seemed to know what it was about. Whether he was told by Mycroft, or figured it out with his extraordinary mind alone, it did not matter. Sherlock had done everything, sacrificed everything to protect the delicate balance that Mycroft and Moriarty had, until a way to defeat the lunatic once and for all, could be worked out.

Mycroft finally finished and glanced out the window briefly before returning his gaze to John.

John looked at Mycroft and asked. "Everything alright then?"

Mycroft glanced at John. "I'm working toward that goal."

John changed the subject. "Am I correct to think that Anderson cannot get out of this?"

"The magistrate issued the search warrant. Double evidence has been collected and sent to two different locations as a precaution. The results of his blood test will also be submitted into evidence. I was careful to keep my name out of it. Moriarty's spies in Scotland Yard are being watched closely, and fed small amounts of false information. We've given no indication that we are even aware of their existence." Mycroft glanced at John. "Another officer was disciplined on a similar, but less severe matter, of negligence because of misplacing evidence. There are no triggers that would alert Moriarty. To anyone who cares to take notice, it would appear to be an internal Scotland Yard matter."

There was another moment of silence.

John spoke first. It could not be avoided any longer. "How is he?"

Mycroft put away his mobile, laced his fingers together as he rested them on his crossed legs, and spoke. "The results are back. There were no drugs in his system. No cocaine, heroin, or any other popular street drug, except for a dose of muscle relaxant mixed with a paralytic. The needle was clean. We don't have to worry about disease."

Mycroft stopped for a moment and looked out. A small smile graced his face. "He finally woke. He woke within minutes of you leaving. All the medical workers are afraid of him. You really must do something with him, John. Sherlock insists on going to Baker Street within the hour. He will not let anyone treat him since he woke up. I negotiated with him to keep the IV in place until you arrived."

"I see. Thank you." John looked at Mycroft and asked again.

"_How_ is he?" They both knew what he meant.

Mycroft looked at John without saying a word. Concern appeared on his features but was gone within seconds. It was a slight movement and could easily have been missed. John did not miss it. He nodded.

"Take me to him," John turned and looked out the window.

Mycroft's voice floated over his shoulders, "We're already on our way, John."

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Moran sat quietly in the plush armchair. This was one of the few times that he had not accompanied Moriarty… Jim. He took a sip of wine from Jim's private reserve. Sebastian did not notice that he had been getting bolder. This was the second time that he drank from Moriarty's private stock of wine.

He looked at the glass of wine. His fingers stroked the edge of the glass absently. It was cool but not cold. He smiled as he swirled it around the glass. Sebastian closed his eyes as he took a small gulp and held it in his mouth for a few minutes before swallowing it down. He sighed contently.

He glanced around his room as if someone could see him. What if they did? He did not fear anyone but Moriarty, and Moriarty was out the country.

Strong, slim fingers tightened around the wine bottle, as he poured the wine. The yellow fluid fell in beautiful liquid ribbons, filling the crystal wine glass. He knew he was not supposed to fill the glass to the rim, but it tasted good. Besides, who would know about it. He did not see the wine police anywhere in the room.

Sebastian chuckled at his own mental joke. He stopped himself after a few seconds. He frowned when he realized that he had finished almost half the bottle. Maybe this should be his last glass of wine. He pushed away the thought that he was taking a risk by drinking Moriarty's wine. He allowed staff to have wine, very good wine in fact, but none were from his private stock like this one. Besides, Moriarty preferred red wine most of the time, this was white.

Sebastian was not drunk enough to open one of his more expensive wines. Moriarty, he meant Jim, had a bottle of a 1787 Sauternes from Château d'Yquem. Jim had not even blinked when he was told that the wine would cost him £55,000. All for something, he would probably never drink. The wine that Sebastian was drinking only cost a few hundred pounds. That was nothing to a man like Jim.

One hand held the wine glass securely as the other hand ran along the plush armchair. He smiled contently.

Sebastian was unable to stifle a sudden yawn. He glanced at his watch. It was getting late in the day. He smiled a satisfied, contented sort of smile. By this time, Holmes should be so full of drugs in his system; he should not know the name of his friends, by morning, he would not know his own name.

An alcohol fueled giggle occurred. The normally reserved, former soldier allowed it. Holmes had been an irritating stress to his system, but that was all in the past now. Sebastian took a sloppy gulp. The sound of him swallowing was audible. The back of his slightly calloused hands, wiped away the few stray drops of wine.

His only regret was not being able to take part in Mr. Holmes education. And he would be educated. His thoughts receded into the darker corners of his mind, he lingered there briefly. Something pulled him away from his pleasure-filled thoughts. Holmes was resourceful; he had believed that he had him before. Surely, even the fool Anderson could not ruin such a detail and well thought out plan?

He took another gulp, barely noticing the moisture left on his lips. His tongue came out without thought and licked the moisture. He pushed the unpleasant thoughts away.

Moran looked at the wine glass and frowned. His frown soon left as a smile returned. He would not come within a meter of Holmes in the next three days. He had been careful to have a local drug addict, who was the brother of a man Holmes had imprisoned, to kidnap him. Every detail had been arranged. If the fool Anderson was not able to follow the plan, and he was arrested, it was of no concern to him. His only concern was the torture and edification of Mr. Holmes.

As the dark thoughts flooded his mind, his mood lightened again.

He took the last of the wine in two large gulps. He put the glass down on the table next to his chair as he sighed contently.

In four days, a drug induced Holmes would emerge so damaged, anyone who knew him would not recognize the man. Even Moriarty would lose interest. His mind was what Jim admired. There would not be much of any mind left, much less such a brilliant one.

Moran snickered as he turned his head. He stifled another yawn. Moriarty told him to distract the Consultant Detective, while he finalized the last of his preparation. He however was forbidden to touch him physically.

He smiled as he giggled. The sound seemed almost manufactured, odd, and out of place as it escaped the former soldier.

He had followed orders. He did not touch the Consultant Detective.

At least not with his own hands.

He stood as he stretched. He would have to be careful to distance himself for the next four days. He would not even risk contacting the spies that were in Scotland Yard. In four days, he would find out the fate of Sherlock Holmes along with the world.


	154. Chapter 154

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 154

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

*****. *** Warning drug reference **T rated** ****. ****

… _Drawing_ _or_ _almost drawing I_…"

* * *

"_**A sympathetic friend can be quite as dear as a brother."**_

~ Homer

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

John exited the lift. Even Sherlock would have a difficult time sneaking out of the facility. The security was impressive. The badge that Mycroft had secured for him did not stop the eyes from glancing warily his way, but it did allow him limited access to most floors and units. It also allowed him to control Sherlock's medical care.

John stepped up to locked double doors. He swiped his ID card. The metallic strip glided easily through the electric slot that was attached to the door. The officer, who sat at a desk close to the door, glanced at the computer screen after John slid his security badge through it. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He pushed something and the door immediately opened.

"Sir," the man behind the desk said before returning to scrutinizing the monitors in front of him. He managed a salute in-between his activities. The return salute John gave, before stepping through the double doors, was as easy as breathing. It was a habit that came without thought. It was automatic and a part of him that could never be lost. He wondered curiously what information Mycroft had put with his security clearance. John's steps quickened slightly. He was almost there. He felt the stretch in his legs as he lengthened his stride.

The facility was semi-isolated, and relatively unknown. At a glance, it appeared to be a building, not a hospital. It was located not far outside of London. Mycroft had a sudden and urgent meeting that he had to attend. He left as soon as John was out the car door. He had arranged for an agent to take John home when ready.

John rounded another corner. He walked past staff. Some wore military uniforms, some civilian. He walked toward the room in the private military hospital. It was small with a clientele that was heavily military and special ops. Mycroft had arranged for his admission. The staff was not unfamiliar with victims of torture, physical, mental and otherwise.

John rolled his eyes as he rounded the corner. He heard voices. One was a deep baritone.

It was obvious that Sherlock was awake.

There was a crash. A medical worker ran from the room in a panic.

Yes, definitely awake.

Surprisingly, one medical worker was still in the room. John ignored the overturned table and food on the floor. He easily stepped over it and walked up to Sherlock. So, Sherlock was not strong enough to throw it on the walls yet.

Sherlock and the nurse were in full glare mode. This staff was tougher than most that he had encountered in the hospitals. Instead of being afraid as most of them would be, this nurse acted as if she needed to remember that it was impolite to slap a patient. John was impressed.

The moment they both noticed John, both expressions changed. The nurse cleared her throat and put on a slightly embarrassed, relieved look. Sherlock's classic, _I dare you_, expression changed. It was also one of relief.

Well that was new, John thought.

Within minutes, the medical staff was dismissed and apologies given as well as thanks. He swore he would not yell as he walked to stand next to Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock folded his arms. "I know what you're going to say. I need to play nicely with others. I shouldn't have refused the pain medication. I should be more cooperative. I should stay for observations for at least another thirty hours and …"

John interrupted Sherlock. "Actually, I spoke to Mycroft already. I was going to say that we could leave whenever you're up to it."

Sherlock uncrossed his arms and asked suspiciously, "I don't have to go to the manor?"

"221 B," John crossed his arms in a mock impression of Sherlock. He tried to hide the fact that he was slightly amused, "If that's alright."

"Acceptable." Sherlock said after clearing his throat.

John did not raise his voice this time when Sherlock immediately tried to take out his IV. This time he helped when needed and allowed his friend to complete the act. He knew Sherlock well enough to have already put supplies in his jacket pocket.

Forty minutes later, he helped Sherlock to sit in the wheelchair. John was surprised and slightly worried when Sherlock did not argue because he had to leave in the wheelchair. Despite his earlier outburst, he was being very impassive.

Sherlock did not make a sound, but grimaced from pain as he sat down. He then closed his eyes. John frowned as he unlocked the wheelchair. He was lost in thoughts as he started to push.

John considered the fact that Sherlock was an unstoppable force during a crisis. After the crisis was over was when Sherlock was the most vulnerable. The thing that made his mind great was what made it a threat to him. Every now and then, it would not shut down, but looped information and data continuously. And, if that data were negative or traumatic, it could be most unpleasant for his friend. John had once suspected that this was what led to Sherlock's drug use during his younger life. At the moment, he was not concerned about drugs, but Sherlock crashing emotionally.

The last time John remembered witnessing Sherlock crash, was after being kidnapped. After the crisis was over, he slept for two days, and followed John's orders without question for two more. On the fifth day, he woke to find his normally lovable flatmate drinking tea as if nothing had happened. Perhaps the word annoying would have been more accurate. He wondered if that was what was happening now, or if something darker was taking place, and he should be taking steps to stop the crises.

As he waited for the lift to open, John said as casually as possible, "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up."

"I'm not a child John." Sherlock tried to sound annoyed. He instead sounded tired.

The lift opened. John wheeled the younger man into the lift. His finger found the lift button. He pressed the desired number.

"You're here now," Sherlock had said the words with such a quiet sincerity, John had almost missed them.

John teased, "Where else would I be but with my favorite annoying mate?" He did not hesitate this time when he touched Sherlock's shoulder. The younger man flinched slightly beneath his touch. John did not let go but held on more firmly.

Sherlock rested his head against the back of the wheelchair, opened his eyes, and looked up at John. John looked down. Neither said a word. Sherlock was the first to look away but there was a difference. The tension in the way that Sherlock held his body drained away. His posture slumped in relaxation.

The lift opened. John gave one last squeeze before letting go. John pushed the wheelchair toward the two waiting agents.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

The smooth cotton sheets slid easily over her skin. It had been a busy day. She had to be up early to write the news article. It would take her the three remaining days to pen the perfect story about the fall of Sherlock Holmes. She smiled. She would sleep well tonight.

Moments later, a sound interrupted her sleep. She had not noticed when she made the transition from wake to sleep. She turned her head to glance at the clock before exhaling deeply.

She turned in the bed. She pushed herself up onto one elbow, as the other hand pushed her wild hair out of her eyes. She had trained her body to awaken quickly. It could be a news story.

Her mobile rang again. She scooted her body to the edge of the bed and leaned over reaching for the phone. She frowned as she looked at her mobile. They agreed not to have any contact for four days.

She pushed the connect button forcefully.

"Yes," she said a little irritably.

Her mouth opened in slight confusion as her tired mind tried to process it all. "You've been arrested?"

Concern grew in her belly, but not for the man on the other end of her mobile line. The little care she had for him, and for the record, at one time she had cared, greatly. That emotion had long since evaporated, and in its place, a sort of lingering resentment, and irritation had taken root. She only cared about her lover and pleasing him. Lately, Robert had been nothing more than a necessary tool. There was no concern for the man who was weeping on the phone asking for help.

She was quiet as she thought. She ignored the embarrassing sounds that he was making. She rolled her eyes. How could she think when he was ranting like a blathering idiot.

Really!

An uncomfortable knot in her stomach started to take place.

Riley did not care that Anderson was arrested. She only wondered if he was able to get Holmes to the drug dealers. If Robert had not, that would mean that he had failed. If he had failed, she had failed. Her only concern was for the one she thought to be her lover. How could she face him and say that she had failed. How would she tell him?

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He was arrested. Everything was so surreal.

He called Riley again for the second time. It must have been a bad mobile signal for her. The phone call suddenly disconnected. He had manipulated a coworker at the Yard to let him borrow his exercise trousers, and allow him to keep his mobile. But, Robert knew, it would have to be taken away soon. He was not even supposed to have it. Fear gripped him tightly.

The phonecall seemed to have disconnected. The line kept ringing, why was she not picking up?

* * *

"_**Kind words, kind looks, kind acts and warm handshakes, these are means of grace when men in trouble are fighting their unseen battles"**_

~ John Hall

* * *

_**Later that Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Sherlock had not volunteered two words all afternoon. He answered John's questions with short answers and retreated to his mind palace, when he was not staring at the walls. That is why it was a bit of a shock.

John was walking toward the kitchen after retrieving a book from his bedroom. The words were so unexpected and low that it seemed like a dream.

"If I had been found dirty, naked, used, and drugged out of my mind; if the whole of London witness my fall, would you be ashamed to be seen with me." Sherlock hesitated.

"All I have is my mind John, what if that was gone."

Sherlock paused. The volume of his voice was incredibly low now; it was a strain to hear. "Would you have rejected me as they would John?"

Sherlock knew John would not, But he could no longer fight the illogical need to hear it. It was a pitiful emotional need to hear John say that he would not reject him. Sherlock knew this and the logical part of him loathed himself for that pathetic need. This, however, could not diminish the strength of that need to hear it; or the fear he had as he waited for John's answer. Sherlock looked away from John.

"If you have drugged yourself up on purpose, if you even sold your body for those drugs, I would not reject you. I would curse you creatively, be mad as hell, maybe even punch you." John sighed before admitting, "Alright, I'd definitely punch you. Right before I force you into treatment, of course."

John held on to Sherlock's arm until he looked at him. "Even then, I would never turn my back on you or reject you. You're stuck with me mate." John paused to let his words sink in. "So, why would I reject you when you were obviously kidnapped and forced into the situation. I'm not stupid Sherlock. Heroin has never been your drug of choice in the past. The media, all of London might have been convinced that you relapsed, but not me, and certainly not Mycroft. He knows that part of your history better than anyone."

Sherlock risked a glance at John. John knew that something else was going on in his mind. He wondered what it was. He would normally push Sherlock to speak, but he sensed that this was one time; that he should give him space.

John allowed Sherlock to look unguarded. "You've been clean for so many years, I take it for granted that you know this but, I trust you mate. I know you well enough to know when there are dangers to you staying clean."

"If it ever got that bad again, I would tell you John." Sherlock looked unguardedly back at John.

John tilted his head and smiled almost shyly. "I know mate, I trust you." John smiled. "For the record, you do have an incredible mind, but I care for you as a person. You're more than a mind to me mate."

John wondered if Sherlock could deduce how difficult it was for him to admit his feelings out loud. John's history was similar to Sherlock, in the sense that feelings were never discussed in his strong military family.

Sherlock nodded and looked straight ahead. They were silent for a few minutes.

"Thank you John." Sherlock whispered quietly as his fingers played with the edge of his robe.

John ghosted a smile. "Crap telly?"

Sherlock shrugged. Within minutes, they were watching television. John noticed that even though he was quiet. Sherlock was watching as well. John noticed his friend's mouth twitch several times as if he wanted to say something insulting, but did not have the energy. At one point, John had discreetly placed a cup of soup and spoon by Sherlock without comment. By the end of the night, Sherlock contorted his body on a corner of the couch and fell asleep. John quietly rose and retrieved a blanket to cover Sherlock. He glanced at the bowl and was pleased that at least half the soup was gone.

When walking back from the kitchen, he stopped and looked at his sleeping friend. Sherlock, at least, looked peaceful now. There was no longer a pained expression when he slept. John hesitantly placed a hand on his friend's forehead. He was careful to avoid his bruises.

"You don't always have to be so strong, you git," he whispered.

John hand lingered there for a moment. He sighed and move tiredly toward the stairs that led to his bedroom. The last three days had been long, and exhausting.

* * *

_**Russia**_

_**Current Day**_

She walked briskly through the streets of Saint Petersburg. She breathed in the fresh morning air. She scanned the faces that passed her by. She was almost finished. She would meet with the last contact in less than two hours. A breeze from the ocean blew, caressing her face. The breeze seemed to wrap a chill around her body; yet, the slightly salty smell was familiar, and brought a comfort.

She knew that Mycroft's agents were following and had blended into the light crowd.

She felt the slight vibration in her right overcoat pocket. She smiled. She had not heard from him for a few days. She assumed that Mycroft had him on assignment as well. She would have worried if another day passed. She assumed that Mycroft would do the courtesy of informing her if anything was wrong with Sherlock, or William.

She pulled out her mobile and read the text without losing a step. Her smile left, confusion came. It was Sherlock's usual text about her staying out of trouble. But… Something was off. A word was misspelled and a period was missing.

Her steps slowed as she read the text again, for the second time, then a third. Her eyes narrowed as she thought. Her steps increased again as she made a phone call. Yards away, someone picked up his mobile phone. Neither of them looked at each other, but pretended to be talking to someone else.

"I need to be on an air flight later today." There was a moment of silence as she listened to the agent ask questions, and ask for a destination.

"London." She answered simply.


	155. Chapter 155

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 155

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

*****. *** Warning drug reference **T rated** ****. ****

… _Drawing_ _or_ _almost drawing I_…"

* * *

"_**No trouble ever got fixed late at night," he said. "Midnight is for regrets."**_  
~ Holly Black, _Red Glove_

* * *

_**Sometime Later**_

_**Current Time**_

He frowned as he opened his eyes. His frown deepened, as he smelled cologne. It was not the kind that he wore. It was expensive and subtle. It was the kind that Moriarty wore.

… Moriarty.

His stiff limbs informed him that he had fallen asleep in the chair. He glanced at the window. It must have been either very late at night, or very early in the morning. It was unclear which one. After a few more blinks, his eyes focused. He looked straight ahead with surprise, as the last of the sleepiness left.

For a second, a brief second, panic tried to rise in Sebastian. It took his mind slightly longer to clear. He was slightly hung over. He glanced around and repressed a relieved sigh. He realized that he had one of his trusted men to dispose of the wine glass and wine bottle before he fell asleep.

Moran gazed ahead again and looked at Moriarty. He must have just come back to London. The room was dimly lit with only one light. He sat in a chair that was pulled so that it was positioned directly in front of Sebastian. Half of Moriarty's body was dimly lit, the other half was hidden by the darkness. However, the white of his eyes could be clearly seen. It gave the Consultant Criminal a frightfully eerie appearance**.**

Moriarty was sitting in the dim light, in his personal room. Moriarty never came to one of his men. They always came to him. While he was still wondering as to the meaning of it all, Moriarty spoke.

"Did you distract Holmes?" Moriarty asked simply. His voice seemed to have deepened.

Sebastian felt like cringing at the ghostly apparition that was speaking to him.

"Yes sir. We distracted him so that you could complete your work. We made sure the men understood that no one was to physically injure him." Moran sat up more alert now, and crossed his legs. He put on his best innocent face. He hoped that he was not overdoing it.

Moriarty looked into Moran's eyes. Sebastian looked back without saying a word, frowning, or flinching. Sebastian body did not betray the fact that he wanted to do exactly that.

Moriarty stood then, he walked to the door, before turning and saying casually, "Good night Seb."

With those words, Moriarty was gone. Sebastian's face betrayed a puzzled look, as he wondered after his retreating boss. He watched the half-lit silhouette as it retreated, and then was slowly absorbed into the welcoming darkness.

* * *

_**The Following Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Lestrade walked in slowly. John was down at Mrs. Hudson. She had cooked a little food and had asked John to carry it up for her. John had said nothing past a plastic smile and a polite nod of greeting.

Sherlock was dressed in his pajama and a tee shirt. It was unusual for Holmes not to be in a suit even when he visited early in the morning. He was careful not to frown as he walked further into the room and sat. Sherlock did not look up. He wordlessly moved over, as one hand pulled the dressing gown back on, which had fallen off one shoulder.

The Detective Inspector rocked back then forth on his heels once, before taking a seat next to Sherlock.

There was a moment of silence. "I thought I'd pop in."

Sherlock gave a slight nod before returning to his imitation of a statue.

Lestrade made no demands of Sherlock. He did not even request that he look at him. He spoke.

"John is keeping most everything quiet. Me and, believe it or not, Donovan, are doing the same."

Sherlock looked at him for the first time with questions in his eyes.

"If you ever want to talk. Not to a Detective Inspector, but to your mate, I'm ready." Lestrade got up without another word and walked to the door.

Sherlock voice stopped him at the door. "You fought through London traffic at the busiest part of the day, just to tell me that." It was not a question.

"Despite your propensity to be a pain, I'm of the opinion that you're worth the effort." Lestrade looked into the younger man's eyes as Sherlock's face contorted into unknown expressions.

He turned to leave; again, Sherlock's voice stopped him.

"There's something in your hand."

Lestrade looked into his hand then raised his eyebrows. He had forgotten. Lestrade put something on a table next to the door.

Sherlock looked at the case file with interest.

"Triple Homicide," Lestrade said simply.

Lestrade noticed the slight tilt of Sherlock's head. A faint sparkle shone in his eyes.

"All three victims were killed with an antique gun, soft nosed bullet, in locked rooms. There were no guns found in the rooms. There were no visible ways to enter or exit the locked rooms. All the victims were killed within an hour of each other on opposite sides of London."

The corners of Sherlock's lips turned up into a small smile. Lestrade saw the familiar fire kindled in the eyes of the younger man.

Sherlock looked at Lestrade. He studied him for a minute without comment. Lestrade was used to Sherlock's stares, he allowed him to.

After a minute, Sherlock looked away again. Lestrade turned to leave.

He heard Sherlock's voice over his shoulder as he walked down the stairs. He cleared his throat to push down the emotions that Sherlock's one word had caused. A smile born of emotions came on his face, as he exited 221B Baker Street.

Lestrade's smile grew wider as he walked toward his police car. It was the first time that he had ever heard Sherlock call him - Greg.

* * *

**Every day I see you looking in.**

**I'll be the smoothest thing to touch your skin**

**You're longing to be loved, but you're alone.**

**Your longing makes you shiver to the bone **~ Emiliana Torrini Gun

* * *

_**Three Days Later**_

_**Current Time**_

The doorbell rang. Despite Mycroft's men being outside, John put his revolver in the back of his waist.

He cautiously opened the door. He exhaled relieved when he saw who it was.

She walked in quietly and stood. John engulfed her in a hug and kiss to the cheek. John always had a way of making her feel welcome. She smiled at him.

"Glad to see you're in one piece." John looked at Irene. She looked every bit as elegant as normal.

Irene did not answer but looked up toward the stairs that led to 221B. "How is he?"

John looked up the stairs. "He has been quiet for three days."

Irene raised an eyebrow. The words quiet and Sherlock did not seem to belong in the same universe, much less sentence.

"I think that he has recovered more memories, but he has not said anything. I think it's from the time that the terrorist kidnapped him. Whatever the memories are of, they seem to be unpleasant." John frowned now.

Irene put a knowing arm on John. She looked down and thought. "During the time that he was away; the time that you thought him dead, he would have moments like this. That time away was dangerous, and mentally and physically exhausting. Injuries were commonplace. I had to learn how to patch him up and send him back out. He never complained. He knew his actions made those he cared for safe. He would never use the word care, of course, but that is what it was. He has people he care for, but you John; he missed you terribly. He had gotten used to you."

Irene turned to look into John's eyes.

"In-between assignments, he would have… dark moments." She smiled. "I once caught him looking at something in his hand. It was a worn picture of the two of you. He ran his fingers over it, as if it was the most precious treasure. When he noticed me looking, he put it away. Embarrassment had flashed on Sherlock's face before his normal bored expression had returned. He had a picture of Mycroft as well. He doesn't know I'm aware of it."

Irene became silent for a moment. "He has people that care for him, but he needs you John. You're more important to him than anyone is. You always will be, I think."

John eyebrows knit together but he did not deny the truth of her words. He had made peace with that truth long ago.

Irene smiled warmly and held onto John's hand. "I don't mind. You make each other better. Loving someone does not mean you have less love to give to the next person. It often means you have more, if one's willing to give it, of course. You've taught him how to care and love John, and he's taught me."

A serious look came on John's face "We used to not like each other very much, didn't we. I find myself rather fond of you now."

"And I, you, John Hamish Watson."

John smiled affectionately. He held Adler's gaze, an understanding past between them.

There was a comfortable moment of silence.

"How did you know that he was in trouble? Did Mycroft tell you?" John asked curiously.

Irene looked away from John and glanced up the stairs. "It was his text. He had gotten to the point that he sent a quick text every day, as we had done before. I normally would not worry unless I did not hear from him for three days, but this was different."

Irene looked into John's eyes now. "He text me after days of silence, but he misspelled a word. I finished what I was doing and was on a flight as soon as it was possible. I can only stay for three days."

John smiled, "You can tell a lot by his text, can't you." John looked away and started to walk up the stairs. He knew that Irene would follow.

John knocked on the perpetually opened door. Sherlock did not turn around. He was at the window staring on the street below. It had been four day since he was rescued from Anderson and the drug dealers.

Today was the first day he had changed from his nightclothes and put his familiar suit back on. At least he was looking like himself again; except for fading bruises to his face.

Both Irene and John entered the room. They both stood on the outer edges of the room as if they were intruding.

"I'm going to pop out with Mrs. Hudson. We're picking a few things up at Tesco." John observed Sherlock for a reaction; none came. "I'll pick up milk, and tea," John thought, "and those biscuits you're fond of."

There was no reaction.

John sighed. He nodded toward Irene with his head. She looked nervous for a moment. It was as if she wondered if she would be rejected. The look quickly left. She raised her chin and walked in with purpose.

John knew that he should leave and give them privacy, but he wanted to make sure that Sherlock would react well. He had not wanted to see anyone but his brother, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade since the…incident. John also had to admit to himself that he was curious.

Sherlock did not turn or acknowledge anyone. Irene continued to walk toward Sherlock; she looked at him and slowly took Sherlock's hand. John watched to see what his friend would do. Sherlock never said a word. He did not agree, he did not protest. He continued to look straight ahead. John was about to turn away and leave when he saw it.

Sherlock's large hand wrapped around Irene's smaller hand. He squeezed her hand but did not let go. He never stopped looking out the window, but continued to hold Irene's hand. Irene said nothing. She turned her head from Sherlock's face to the window. She looked out the window as well.

John backed out the room and walked down the stairs toward Mrs. Hudson's flat.

* * *

A/N: Enjoy your rest. Lots of Love.

**Fun Question**: "In which canon story, was a wealthy man found one morning dead from a gunshot wound to the head. There was no evidence of anyone entering or exiting through windows or door to the room. There was money on the table where he was killed. This man played cards and gambled casually.

**Stop reading now unless you want a hint.**

Ronald Adair was the murder victim's name.

Choices:

1. The Adventure of _the Dancing Men_

2. The Adventure of _the Solitary Cyclist_

3. The Adventure of _a Study in Scarlet_

4. The Adventure of _the Empty House_


	156. Chapter 156

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 156

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Thank you for your recent post: bruderlein (some of your questions will be answered.), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. The only thing better than more sentiment, is sentiment with hot tea. ;) ), Bookworm Gal (Good guess, you were correct.), Natalia (You are correct. It is The Empty Hears… Clears throat… I mean House. :] ), kassandwich ( Correct on the empty House, here is more.), lizzie1250 (Correct. More to come. ), Rouge Singer (Thank you for your comments on character dynamics and the story lines.), Kitiara88 ( Thanks for your comments. More twist and turns ahead.), e la mucca salto sulla luna (Thanks for the comments and insight. More ahead,), Guest (Good guest on the answer. That was the murder with "RACHE" written in blood.), gemstone1234 (Saying that there was something Sherlock-esque about me was a compliment. Thanks for pointing out it was not psychopathic.) RawrxSushi (Thank you for the multiple post. That was a lot of reading. You did great.), Trevor (Thank you for the multiple comments. Welcome.), eohippus (Thanks for the multiple post. We do love to be descriptive, do we not?), Socalrose (Thank you for the multiple comments. Sherlock's family comes together.), Warelock (Thank you so much. :) ), Guest (Thank you so much for being the 1000th reviewer!)To all other guests, new readers, and PM's, thank.

Thank you ; kamelion, Kelllie, nourss, Me And The Time Vortex, deaka, goanago, Whosawesome, Rouge Singe, Nourss, goanago, Lillkin, It's-Somebody, lizzie1250, Dawnfire11, RiverSong11, georgiporgiepuddingandpie, . , e la mucca salto sulla luna, kassandwich, T're Urvawi, lizzie1250, Kelllie, Sdale05, jack63kids, kassandwich ,macgyvershe, cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.

**Warning*****. *** T rated ****. ****Violence. Talk of blood.**

More as soon as possible

Stay safe.

Note: _Scire quis sit __Magister_ will be explained where it is written. is _Know who is (the) Master__ (Latin)_

The answer to last week's fun question is, # 4. The Adventure of the Empty House

**Congratulations**: bruderlein, Bookworm Gal, Natalia, kassandwich, lizzie1250, Rouge Singer, Kitiara88, e la mucca salto sulla luna, gemstone1234, eohippus, RawrxSushi, and Socalrose . You really know your canon!

"… _One trick is to put your king between the enemy's king and pawn-that's often enough for a draw. But do calculate a few moves ahead, because there's a big difference between drawing and almost drawing…"_

… _Drawing_ _or_ _almost drawing III_…"

* * *

"_**Quintilius Varus, give me back my legions."**_

~ Augustus Caesar

* * *

_**One Day Ago **_

_**Southern France**_

He rounded the corner at a high speed. One hand held the steering wheel as the other hand adjusted the rearview mirror. His lips parted so that he could examine his clenched teeth for food. There was none. His tongue, never-the-less, ran slowly across the perfectly even surface of his teeth, to wipe the none existent food particles away.

He was slightly OCD, but embraced it.

The sleeves of his light-colored, silken shirt, was rolled up in a casual way that he rarely allowed himself. His suit jacket was off, and folded neatly on top of the empty back seat of the Cobalt – Blue, Ferrari Enzo. At a cool million pounds each, most people would be careful not to get a scratch on it, but Jim was not most people. Even though Mycroft Holmes had slowly seized two –third of his finances, he had slowly built it back up. The pure fact was that, even at his lowest financially, he could still have afforded a small country. Money had not been his motivation for years.

Mycroft had been an interesting challenge. However, it was Mycroft's younger brother and that younger brother's mind, which was his obsession. A very interesting obsession he had turned out to be.

He readjusted the rearview mirror as he glanced behind. He smirked and looked forward again. Classical music played at a slightly too high volume. The high-speed car rounded a corner much too fast. Moriarty's sunglass clad eyes glanced to his left. This part of the country was quite beautiful, if one liked that sort of thing.

Too bad.

The music of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart filled the enclosed space as the notes of his concert ascended, then descended, in quick, then slow shifts. The dark hairs on his arms seemed to pulsate, as the cords of the spirited musical piece, vibrated the small space. Moriarty tapped one finger on the steering wheel in time to the rhythmic flows. Moriarty admitted to himself that the works of Bach were his favorite, but he could relate to Mozart. Ordinary people would listen and admire things such as the natural flow and irresistible charm of the composer's music. They would say things such as, Mozart express humor, joy or sorrow with both conviction, and mastery, his brilliant examples of high art, blah, blah, blah.

For the Consultant Criminal, it was more than the man's piano concertos that attracted him. Mozart was considered a brilliant child protégé, much like himself. He would have been considered… unconventional. Jim smirked; he loved anyone with a wild side. He could relate.

He glanced in his rear view mirror and smiled.

If they were supposed to be pursuing him, they would have to do better. One hand came down to shift gears, as the other hand firmly controlled the vehicle. Even at these speeds, he noticed how smooth the motorcar rode. There was not even much of a tremor.

Jim gave a quick look in his rear view mirror again. The vehicles that were already distant from him, now appeared as dark spots, and then disappeared completely many kilometers behind, as he rounded a bend in the lonely mountain road.

He slowed down slightly now and enjoyed the drive. The bluish-gray, rocky mountainside, was scattered heavily with bushes and trees that grew defiantly out of the rocks. In some locations, there were small areas of greenery with thick vegetation, and trees. Moments later, there would be only the scattered greenery again. The sky was a vivid, bright blue, with almost no clouds. There were guardrails on selected sections of the mountain road. They were made mostly of wood with metal braces. A few sections had portions of the backing made from hued mountain rock. The rails were low. Moriarty scoffed in humor. If a motorcar was truly out of control, he doubted the rails would do much to stop the vehicle, and its occupancies, from plummeting below. There would be no survivors.

Moriarty smiled. He sped up again. He looked to tempt fate, providence, destiny, whatever, whoever, there was.

He gave a fleeting look, in the rear view mirror, and still could not see anyone behind him. His attention was turned back to the music. His dark hair spread as it touched the leather seat; his head finally resting. The tension completely drained away.

He drove without another thought for several minutes.

The ringtone of his mobile Smartphone, alerted him to the fact that an incoming call was trying to reach him. He let it ring for a second time. His free hand reached for his earpiece and firmly pressed the button, which was held down for two seconds; this connected the incoming call.

"Yes?" He said simply.

He knew who it was. Moriarty's eyes narrowed as he listened to the information that he had one of his employees to inquire about. He listened to her voice as she confirmed his suspicions, and then explained the reasons for her conclusions.

"Have everything ready for me when I arrive. When you find out who helped in this matter, except for the two people that we spoke of before, leave no witnesses." His mood darkened as he listened further.

The motorcar's tires squealed slightly. He rounded a corner much quicker than it was safe to do; the anger fueled him on. He listened for her to assure him that everything would be, as he required before disconnecting the mobile call. He drove for several kilometers before he slowed down greatly.

He guarded these times alone. It was fewer now. Soon everything would change. He would enjoy these little things while he could.

Within fifteen minutes, he noticed three cars quickly approaching. It was obvious that they were pursuing him. Moriarty had only witnessed two cars driving in the opposite direction in three hours. He continued to drive at a speed that would allow the pursuing cars to overtake his motorcar within minutes.

He had given them enough time. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that he was not alone. Three motor cars came within a close distance of his Ferrari, and closed quickly.

The second time in the hour, Moriarty's free hand reached for his earpiece and firmly punched the button. The mobile phone line connected an incoming phone call.

_The voice of his bodyguard spoke. "Sir, the underground facility that we've just visited, is this the one that you have chosen?" Moriarty had visited several in the last six months._

"Yes, it's acceptable. Make sure that there is no paper trail of its existence." Moriarty rolled the car window down slightly, it had been a long drive and the cool air would refresh him.

"_Yes Sir, I understand. The local men will be arriving at the facility in less than an hour," there was the sound of shuffling. "Sir, we can protect you better if you're not kilometers ahead of us."_

Moriarty said in a bored tone. "Then I suggest that you drive faster." Moriarty smiled again as the cool breeze blew in his face. His mood lightened once more, as his foot pressed on the gas accelerator. His hand simultaneously shifted the speed gear.

"_Yes Sir," his bodyguard said._

Moriarty wore a dark smile; "By the way," he said the same words he had used repeatedly, for the past two months, "leave no witnesses."

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He walked up to the last one. There were eleven in total. Gray eyes looked unseeing toward the floor. He shifted his eyes from the current victim to the rest, then back again. A look of shock, surprise, and horror were twisted, frozen on the faces. The eyes and lips were the only recognizable parts of the bodies.

The seasoned Sergeant, after a few minutes of examination, gladly looked away.

The Sergeant was well groomed. He had a deep frown on his slightly wrinkled face, as he ran distracted hands through his short, coarse graying hair. He had a weary continence, one that was born of a soul who had witnessed the very worst of humanity. What kept him going was the fact that as an ex-military, he had also seen how brave and heroic man could be, even under the darkest of conditions.

Yellow, nicotine stained fingers played with his pen as he held it like a cigarette. His trained eyes picked up more details of the rundown warehouse.

His gaze caught the eye of a younger police officer. The young man quickly, and carefully, made his way over to him. The Sergeant's breath, as he spoke, was stale from too many cigarettes, and coffees; but not enough real food or breath mints.

"Keep everyone out of here. Try to keep the press away. Get forensics in here, in fact, get a team, one person will not do."

"Yes Sir." The younger officer prepared to run off, but was stopped.

"And coffee. Large. Black." It was almost an afterthought.

The officer nodded then was gone.

The Sergeant glanced around then walked away. He took out his mobile then made an urgent call. The other line was connected quickly.

The Sergeant spoke quietly. "Three days ago, you said to give you a ring if anything unusual happened." He looked grimly in front of him. "I have something for you. It looks like his work."

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**One Hour Earlier**_

Sebastian dismissed the last of the men as he walked toward the lift. His pace was leisurely, his mood better. The evening news on the telly; was to show Holmes being witnessed as he staggered out of an alley in a drug induced high. The news crews would happen to be there covering an automobile accident. It had all been arranged.

Moran smiled.

His pace did not quicken, but his stride became long as he took advantage of his long legs. Economy, not energy, he thought. He rounded the last corner that would lead to the lift. Reaching it, a finger firmly pressed the numbered key.

Something nagged at the back of his mind; he pushed it away. He would allow nothing to spoil his good mood.

The lift opened.

Moran entered the lift, put his key into the elevator lock, which unlock the upper floors, and then pushed the button to the top floors. One of Moriarty corporations owned the luxury, high-rise building. Moran had stood tall and elegantly as the doors to the lift closed. However, now that no one could see him, he leaned against the lift walls tiredly. He almost did not notice the pull of his body downwards, when the lift started to move upwards.

Moran sighed heavily as he allowed his eyes to close for a brief moment. The last few days appeared as a blur in his mind. He had been moving non-stop. Moriarty always had him to reserve the top four floors of his luxury buildings, as well as the penthouse. It was convenient to have several places to hide in any given large city of the world. They hid in plain site. Moran gave an exhausted smirk.

His thoughts returned to the fall of _The Great Sherlock Holmes_. He had given Riley what he promised. She did good work. It would be her first time in front of a camera as a newswoman, instead of a once disgraced newspaper reporter. The news story would launch her new career as a television newscaster. Riley was obedient, and he loved to own people. With all the evidence he had on her, he owned her now. She just did not know it yet.

The door opened to the second top floor. The only thing higher was the penthouse and that was Moriarty's private space. No one but his top men dared to enter. Only he and Moriarty's secretary could enter without invitation, he noted with pride.

He easily stepped out.

Only his top men and women had suites on the current floor. He stepped strongly despite his exhaustion. It would never do to show weakness, he was a proud man after all. He was exhausted; however, no one needed to know that. Moriarty had left a specific list of things that he wanted him to do personally.

Moran nodded to several people as he walked down one of the long corridors. He was unsure when his boss would be back. Days earlier, When He woke to see Moriarty staring at him, he had sat in the chair for hours thinking until the alcohol in his system won, and he had fallen asleep again.

If it were not for Jim's lingering cologne, he would have thought that seeing him sitting in the chair, when he had awakened, was a dream. He could still see the outline of his eyes in the dark.

Since then, he had been on his best behavior. He could not afford for his boss to become suspicious.

Sebastian rounded the corner and looked at the door to his suite. He was looking forward to the news broadcast today. A lazy half-smile graced his face. His mobile rang. His hand brushed against the silky fabric of his shirt as he reached the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled it out, looked at the caller ID, and frowned. His steps slowed then stopped. The smile left his face.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

It had been late in the day. Mycroft had come for a visit. He had not seemed surprised to find Irene Adler quietly talking to Mrs. Hudson on the sofa. They had shared lingering looks. John noticed but kept his expression neutral. The brothers had spoken quietly for an hour before the elder Holmes had left again.

John removed himself to make more tea. He insisted that Mrs. Hudson rest her hip.

John became lost in the automatic motions. The kettle boiled as a fresh pot of tea, and coffee was made. He listened as Sherlock started to tune his violin. There was one long moan of the violin before all sound ended abruptly. The tray was picked up, in preparation to be carried into the other room, when the music had ended abruptly. The stress that had begun to melt away, returned instantly. Since Sherlock gave no indications of distress, John added another cup on the tray, before walking into the room.

Lestrade was talking quietly to Sherlock. Both men turned their eyes toward John. Lestrade's eyes were apologetic. Sherlock's face was unreadable. To all but John, that is.


	157. Chapter 157

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 157

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**Warning*****. *** T rated ****. ****Violence. Talk of blood.**

"… _One trick is to put your king between the enemy's king and pawn-that's often enough for a draw. But do calculate a few moves ahead, because there's a big difference between drawing and almost drawing…"_

… _Drawing_ _or_ _almost drawing III_…"

* * *

"_**Do not bite at the bait of pleasure, till you know there is no hook beneath it.**__**"**_

~ Thomas Jefferson

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**One Hour Earlier**_

Sebastian's steps slowed then stopped. He looked around wearily and frowned before saying in a whispered angry tone. "You were not to contact me Ms. Riley!" He was careful to stress the use of her last name.

Sebastian face grew somber as he listened on the phone. He started to walk toward his suite. "That idiot," he whispered a hiss. "Do we know if they were able to take him to the drug dealers, or was he rescued?" He was only a yard away from his door now. He listened as he opened his suite door.

"You mean to tell me no one knows if he was rescued?" It was becoming harder to control the volume of his voice. Why did Riley not ask Anderson that very important question before she hung up on the man? And, to think, she called Anderson an idiot.

He swung open the door as he listened to her try to justify her actions. He closed it with a little more force than necessary. He threw his car keys on a close table. The keys slid across the wood and came to land precariously on the edge.

He unbuttoned his jacket as he entered the large open living area that was directly before his bedroom. He opened his mouth to give a scathing remark when a slight movement out of the corner of the semi-darkened room caught his attention. He turned toward the movement with the mobile still up to his ear. He froze suddenly, before he forced himself to relax. He disconnected and silenced his mobile. The fact that Riley was still speaking, was never a consideration.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Agent Thomas, or Blake Smith, as he was known, rose to leave. He ran a thumb gently along the underside of her cheek as she smiled a wide smile. She watched him as he sat up and pulled his shirt on. She was silent as she watched closely.

"This is the first time you've… stayed," she said with a smile. "Why do you have to leave so quickly?"

"We both have demanding jobs," Blake said with a smile, his dimpled cheeks showing.

Abigail turned dramatically on her back; the first hint of a pout graced her lips. "You give new meaning to the word dedicated." She turned to look at him. "This is the first time you've left professor Colville's side, now you tell me you're leaving."

Blake put on his shoes and concentrated on tying the lace. "The fact that I am leaving is to be kept between me and you, tell no one." Thomas looked toward her to gauge her understanding.

Abigail rolled her eyes as she dramatically put up her hand and pretended to swear an oath. "I Abigail Rolland, swear not to tell the world that you, Blake Smith will be leaving soon," her voice suddenly became quiet, "and taking my heart with you."

Blake sighed as he came close and kissed her looking down. "A bit dramatic Abigail." His tone was not mocking, but tender.

"You say you'll be back, but you won't tell me anything." A tear ran down Abigail's face. She looked at him and smiled. "I don't know how to pretend that I don't care."

Blake held her hand and pulled her up to sit. He sat beside her quietly for a few minutes. She saw him wrestling with himself as if he was coming to a decision. Blake then, opened his mouth and spoke. He told her nothing specific, only the day he would be leaving, that he would contact her as soon as he could, and that he felt as strongly for her as she did for him. He then pulled her to her feet and walked slightly in front as they made their way to the front door.

He held her hand as he walked backwards out the door. Their hands eventually stretched then parted because of distance. Blake walked a yard away, and then turned back around. He walked back to Abigail. He pushed his hands in his pocket then pulled out a necklace.

"I wasn't sure if this was the right time to give this to you. This is new to me as well." He hesitated, "It was my mother's." he stretched his arm and fastened the necklace around her neck. "I promise, I'll be back for that," he looked into her eyes. "Trust me," he smiled and raised an eyebrow.

She smiled a dazzling smile, "I'll keep it safe for you then. Promise."

He tucked a long curly strand of hair behind her ears. He kissed her then. It was long, warm, and full of promise. She smiled as he gave her a lingering look, and then walked away without turning back. Abigail continued to smile as Blake opened his motorcar and drove away. She continued to smile when he was gone, but her smile changed.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**One Hour Earlier**_

A figure sat in the corner of the room sipping on something. Sebastian, after disconnecting his phone conversation, put the mobile away as casually as possible. He stood still for a moment as a dozen thoughts collided into each other in his mind. He was in uncharted waters, so to speak. Sitting in one of the armchairs by the wall, was Jim Moriarty. The half-lit room revealed only the silhouette of the Consultant Criminal. Sebastian decided to make the first move.

"Sir."

Sebastian kept his voice as even as possible as he walked confidently towards Moriarty. Moriarty motioned toward the chair next to him. He walked close to the chair and slowly sat opposite Moriarty without comment. As casually as he could, he picked up the remote control and pressed the button. The lights brightened, increasing the room's illumination greatly. Sebastian glanced to his left and looked at Moriarty. Moran resisted the urge to frown. Even with the increase in light, it still seemed as if the room was too dull, as if the light was being somehow swallowed up.

Sebastian raised his chin and squared his shoulders. He was a soldier; he had both seen and caused men to die. He would not give in to superstitious thoughts, or the thinking of the feeble and weak minded. He pushed all such feelings aside. He was Sebastian Moran; there would be no displays of weakness.

There was a moment of silence. Moriarty handed a glass to Sebastian. Moran took it without comment. He took a sip. It was wine, white wine in fact.

Moran took another small sip. "Thank you sir."

It was one of the expensive wines, a few thousand pounds at least. Instead of being enjoyable, it stuck in his throat. He crossed his legs. One hand rested on his leg. The other held the wineglass, as it rested on his thigh. He looked intently into the clear liquid as his eyebrows knitted together briefly.

Moran spoke while still looking at his wineglass. "How was your trip Sir?"

Sebastian already knew that it was successful, but he did not think that he could stand the silence much longer.

"Almost everything is in place Seb. You did a very good job here. You did all that I asked with your usual level of dedication, and excellence." Moriarty put his wineglass down after taking one last sip. "Well, there were one or two small variations to my orders, weren't there Seb."

Moriarty winked, as he waved one hand gracefully. He contorted his upper body so that he could pick up a computer from the floor, without leaving his seat. The computer was opened; it was already on. An earpiece was pushed into the Consultant Criminal's ear, before the on button was pushed. He positioned the computer where Moran could see the screen. Moriarty, at that point, stopped looking at the computer; he looked intently into the eyes of Moran.

"Scire quis sit Magister," Moriarty said slowly.

Moran did not know what Moriarty had said. He was not sure he wanted to know.


	158. Chapter 158

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 158

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**Warning*****. *** T rated ****. ****Violence. Talk of blood.**

"… _One trick is to put your king between the enemy's king and pawn-that's often enough for a draw. But do calculate a few moves ahead, because there's a big difference between drawing and almost drawing…"_

… _Drawing_ _or_ _almost drawing III_…"

* * *

_**"I like treachery, but I cannot say anything good of traitors."**_

~Julius Caesar

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

They watched him as he walked among the bodies. They wore their blue body suits. He still wore none despite the ungodly amounts of blood and other things that they both chose not to think about. He had not said a word. Not to call anyone incompetent, not to show off one of his brilliant deductions, not even to ask a question yet. No one interfered; the fire in his eyes informed everyone that his brilliant mind was engaged in the hunt.

It was dark now, and high-powered worklights had been transported to the crime scene. It helped greatly to illuminate the area, yet it added to the gruesomeness of an already surreal scene. Now there were pockets of black darkness on the borders of areas of too bright light. Someone had underestimated the amount of worklights needed, so they were forced to spread the lights too thinly.

Lestrade glanced upwards.

The eleven bodies swung slightly from side to side. They were upside down on hooks that were fastened to the ceiling above.

Greg looked at the silhouette in the distance before glancing at John. John's arms were folded, as he focused on Sherlock. His face had contorted into such a look of utter concentration; he wondered if he noticed anything else, that was occurring.

John's face suddenly took on a look of concern, as his body tensed, and his mouth partially opened. Lestrade's own expression relayed concern as he turned, following John's eyes. Sherlock had emerged from a patch of darkness into a well-lit area. He was looking so intently at the bodies he seemed to not notice the bloodied mess that he had surrounded himself with. Lestrade frowned, he did not want to break his concentration, but he did not want him to step into something unpleasant. He decided to let John handled the situation. He simply looked from John, to Sherlock, to John again.

John opened his mouth. A breath escaped before his features morphed back into one of concentration. His body relaxed.

Lestrade noticed what he saw. Sherlock, without looking down, had somehow navigated himself around the mess and stepped over a puddle of partially congealed blood. Lestrade relaxed and resumed watching Holmes.

Sherlock looked away from the bodies for the first time. He discarded his gloves. He then took out his mobile and took several pictures, before he sent a quick text. After a few minutes, an incoming text came. He manipulated his mobile for a few minutes longer, and then put it away. He donned a fresh pair of gloves.

Lestrade ignored the break in official protocol; this was Sherlock. He sighed resigned, as he purposely turned his eyes away, as if the act could erase the image of the Consultant Detective sending pictures of a crime scene to God-only-knows, who.

Lestrade folded his arms in front of him.

Greg exhaled irritably, before admitting to himself that it had to be Molly Hooper that Sherlock was communicating with. Sherlock would never admit it out loud, but he trusted her to accurately evaluate the forensic details. In fact, Holmes just trusted Molly.

After the appropriate time had passed, Lestrade shifted his body and eyes toward Sherlock.

Sherlock was on the last body now. Sherlock glanced at the body from feet moving downward to the battered face. Greg noticed a frown; his own face frowned in sympathy. Sherlock stood there for a long moment, with a look of deep contemplation and surprise. It was the first recognizable expression on the younger man's face.

A noise caught the Detective Inspector's attention. There was a rhythmic echo, as feet moved swiftly through the opened space. A Sergeant moved briskly toward Lestrade. The Sergeant spoke in a breathy voice. John, for the first time, turned away and listened.

* * *

Data flowed into Sherlock's mind. The world melted away until nothing but facts and figures remained.

_Eleven bodies, four of the men were criminal professionals – Seven of those men common criminals – yet, they were all punished together, and this was punishment._

_This was personal- The men were not just killed, an example was made of them._

_Hung upside down like meat– Sends a message about their worth – That is - Lack of worth. _

Sherlock steadied a body with one hand as a gloved finger pressed firmly on a cheek.

_The lower part of the bodies would be the faces. There are signs that the blood cells has begun to settle in the lower area– Yet, no true livor mortis, or rigor mortis yet._

_Considering the temperature, death over an hour, but less than two hours._

Sherlock walked over to the last body.

_This one suffered more than the rest. The torture was slower, more painful. The body was unrecognizable. But, something held Holmes there. He did not notice that his professional mask fell as he frowned._

The eyes.

He concentrated as he ignored the gruesome scene around him. Everything around him further retreated. Sherlock eyes narrowed as he focused on the eyes. Something was familiar, very familiar.

A moment passed.

Eyes suddenly became wide as his mouth parted slightly. He turned toward Lestrade and John. They were walking toward him after talking with a police officer. He already knew what Lestrade would say.

Sherlock waited, as they made their way carefully to him. Lestrade opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock spoke first.

"I know Lestrade. Four of these men are Moriarty's men; this one is one of his top men. I have hypothesized that the rest of these men are employees of a drug dealer."

Sherlock turned to John. "Both you and I know this man."

John looked strangely at Sherlock. He looked at what was left of the man but could not recognize whom it..., he meant he, was.

"The eyes John; ignore everything else. You might want to do the same Lestrade." Sherlock waited patiently.

Lestrade thought the man was familiar, but he could not recall the name.

A few second later, John inhaled with shock. His head snapped toward Sherlock who simply nodded once in conformation.

"Who killed them? Who killed him?" John asked the question before Lestrade could.

"Moriarty," Sherlock replied simply.

"Four of those murdered were his own men. Why kill his own men?" Even though Lestrade's tone was challenging, the truth was he knew better than to not trust Holmes.

Sherlock looked at the face of the last body as he replied, "For me."

John considered this. He noticed Sherlock as he looked away. Following Sherlock's eyes, both men simultaneously looked at the writing on the wall. It was written in blood.

"Do you know what it means?" Lestrade asked curiously.

"Yes," Sherlock said simply, as he stared at the last body. "Scire quis sit Magister_,_ it means_, Know__ who is the Master__."_

* * *

"_**We dance round in a ring and suppose, while the secret sits in the middle and knows**_."

~Robert Frost

* * *

_****__**Current Day**_

_**One Hour Earlier**_

Sebastian thought for a minute thinking about what Moriarty had said. He made his face blank before looking at Moriarty.

Moran**, **following Moriarty's eyes, turned his eyes toward the computer. His mouth opened slightly and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly, before a blank mask came over his face. With the push of a button, the sounds of screaming and shouting filled the moderately sized space.

Sebastian sat without expression. Only the tightening of his hand around the wineglass betrayed his discomfort. No one would have noticed. Moriarty did.

When they came to the last person, Sebastian did not notice that his jaws had clinched tightly and his teeth were grinding audibly. Sebastian never pretended to be a caring or sympathetic man. He was prideful, selfish, self-centered, ruthless, intelligent, and skilled with a gun; but he did have one weakness. Strangely, he only discovered it at that moment.

The man that they were preparing to torture; was someone who had followed Sebastian after being discharged from military service. James was his name. He had known the man for over a decade. Their relationship over the years had changed. During their time in the military together, it had been one of starry-eyed worship, on James part, at least. Then their relationship was one of the loyal follower, master. The last three years, it had grown, and changed into something else, something that Sebastian could not label.

No, Moran was not sentimental, but for his entire faults, and there were many, he was loyal. The young man being tortured now was as close to family as Sebastian's normally cold heart, could identify.

Sebastian, for the first time in his life, swallowed his pride. He would ask… no plead with Moriarty for the young man's life. He turned toward Moriarty and opened his mouth. At the cold look in Moriarty's eyes, he closed it again. He knew that look. He had smirked and thought it funny, when he saw numberless victims beg, when Jim's eyes had darkened. He knew pleading would not move Moriarty to mercy. Instead, it would cause Moriarty to increase the level of torture. The end results would be that the torture would be extended as long as possible. Jim despised weakness.

Sebastian attempted to look at the ground. Moriarty cleared his throat. Sebastian looked back to the computer, he made his face as bored looking as possible. No one was fooled.

As Sebastian watched, a cold chill ran through his body. If one part of himself asked the other part of himself, why he sat there, he would have been forced to confess that he was not sure why. Everything in this training as a soldier, screamed at him to flee, or fight. He ignored the impulses that had kept him alive during his military service, and the time after his service. This was Moriarty. Where could he go that his hands could not reach? The truth was, even if he could escape, he would not.

He composed himself best he could and endured every sound, every scream, every whimper, and then finally, the silence. If he did not see that it was James before the torture began, he would not have known that what was left of the body was his.

Sebastian looked away now. Only the stiffness in his body reminded him of the passing of time. Apparently, he had not moved. The expensive wine was raised to his lips, before it was lowered, untouched. The wine had lost its appeal.

Moriarty rose. Moran rose and waited. Moriarty's voice broke the silence.

"It's so amusing when ordinary people try to hide something. I knew about your little acts of affection for Holmes, I _allowed_ it. It did control him and it was amusing to see him out think you over, and over, and over again. It also provided a way to punish him, and to remind him of what I could have allowed."

He walked up to Sebastian but stopped before they touched. "Do you know how many times I came close to killing you? I would think about it sometimes, but then tea, and sandwiches would come, and I would get distracted." Moriarty waved his hand around in the air dramatically. "We both know how much I love those cucumber sandwiches."

Sebastian forced himself not to back up as his boss took another step. He could smell the wine on Moriarty's breath. Sebastian's heart rate sped up, yet he forced himself to stay where he was standing.

"You've gone a little too far; you've crossed a line Seb."

Moran's anger, jealousy, and pride erupted. "Holmes is not worthy to…"

There was a blur of movement.

Sebastian blinked his eyes before they became wide. Moriarty's tone was treacherous, yet intimate, as if they were having a private conversation. He tried to squirm, to speak, but could do neither. Moriarty had his body pressed against his as an elbow pressed firmly against his throat. He was pinned to the wall like a fly. Jim was pressing against his throat, not hard enough to completely cut off his airway, just firmly enough to make it rather difficult to breathe.

He had forgotten how strong, and quick Moriarty was.

He was choked against a wall. Moran wheezed and inhaled harshly, as he tried to intake the precious oxygen. His eyes travelled around the room, before it came to rest again on Moriarty. The room started to darken, as his thoughts became unclear. If this was the end, he had to somehow communicate to Moriarty, to Jim. He had to let him know what a great man he thought he was. Maybe, he was just as insane as Jim. Sebastian's lips turned up into a small smile. With the lack of oxygen and bluish tint to his lips, and skin, it gave him a morbid, gruesome appearance.

Moriarty looked back. Sebastian saw a blackness there. It was the same murderous intent he had seen countless times. It was now directed at him. Before his eyes closed, and the world turned gray, Sebastian thought he saw something unfamiliar flash across Moriarty's face. It was there one minute then gone. As the gray turned to black, he felt himself fall into nothingness.

_To be continued._


	159. Chapter 159

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 159

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**Warning*****. *** T rated ****. ****Violence. Talk of blood.**

"… _One trick is to put your king between the enemy's king and pawn-that's often enough for a draw. But do calculate a few moves ahead, because there's a big difference between drawing and almost drawing…"_

… _Drawing_ _or_ _almost drawing III_…"

* * *

"_**We dance round in a ring and suppose, while the secret sits in the middle and knows**_."

~Robert Frost

* * *

_Continued._

The blackness released him as it slowly receded. Jumbled images started to have meaning.

Moran heard someone choking before he realized that it was himself. He wheezed, and coughed and sputtered. Only one thing existed.

Breathe.

His eyes blinked as the world came back into focus. He looked up momentarily confused before he remembered the events of the last hour, and realized the Moriarty was on one knee beside him, and was talking. He looked at the ceiling and realized that he was lying on the floor.

"Back with us Seb? That's good then." Moriarty patted his cheek almost affectionately. "People talk to their pets, and since you are my current pet, let me tell you about my old one…"

Jim moved his body and sat on the floor next to the coughing, sputtering, and wheezing man. "… My father never allowed me to have a pet. I brought a stray-dog home one day. I was surprised that he did not beat me or force me to get rid of it. I cared for that dog for one month. I shared my food with it, slept with it. I think the emotion that ordinary people would use in describing how I felt, would have been, love. I think I loved it. The moment was so long ago, I can't remember how that particular emotion feels…"

Jim's voice was almost friendly now, yet the sinister undertones could not be missed.

"… One day I came home. I was excited. I worked for the neighbor and saved up enough money to buy this. I'm not sure why I kept it…" Moriarty took up an object in his hand and showed Sebastian.

Moriarty's eyes took on a distant look. He was quiet for a few seconds before speaking in his normal, cheerful voice. "… I wandered away from the story a bit, sorry. Anyway, I walked into my bedroom to see my father in my room petting the dog. For some reason, I can't seem to remember what I named that dog…" Moriarty's voice was far away.

Sebastian was gasping for breath.

"… Anyway, father just smiled at me. I knew instantly what I had done. I was very young but I knew that it was my … love that had killed that dog. The dog was still breathing, tail wagging, but he was dead. My father took a knife and smiled." Moran picked up a second object. "It was similar to this knife… father started to work." Sebastian held his breath as the cool of the metal pressed into his skin.

"An hour later, the dog was still alive, but suffering. My father had stopped before he killed the dog, and left it in my bed. Whatever the mass of mangled, bloodied flesh was, it was still alive, technically only, of course. Do you know what happened then?"

Sebastian looked straight ahead, as he wheezed. The coughing had stopped. The dull side of the knife traced invisible patterns on his skin. All Moriarty had to do, to open him up, was to flip to the other side of the blade. He remembered how well Moriarty handled knives. The unfamiliar emotion of terror hovered over Moran.

"I looked at the knife father had so kindly left on the bed. Two things occurred for the first time. It was the first time I killed. It was the last time I took a life for mercy."

Moriarty took away the knife. He fastened the thick leather around Sebastian's neck.

Sebastian started to choke again.

"Whoops, I made the collar a little tight Seb." Moriarty loosened the dog collar. Sebastian gasped inhaling large amounts of air as he coughed. Moriarty took the time to attach a leash.

"Get on your knees and beg."

"I'd rather... you kill... me Sir." Moran wheezed out,

Moriarty put his lips to Moran's ears and whispered. "But I won't kill you Seb. And, I won't allow you to kill yourself, if that's what you're thinking. Only I have that right."

Moriarty motioned with his hand. "On all fours, walk around and bark like a dog."

Sebastian looked at him oddly, as if Moriarty had just told a bad joke.

"Go ahead, bark." A sinister darken tone came into Moriarty's previously friendly voice.

Sebastian barked. His voice was still raspy from being choked. It all seemed out of body and surreal, Sebastian was in shock. This could not be happening, not to him.

Not to him!

He was Sebastian Moran, his very presence made men tremble.

Moriarty voice floated into his mottled mind. "We have final plans to go over with everyone. Go to the conference room now."

Sebastian sighed with relief. He was glad that it was over. He prepared to stand. A quick press of Moriarty's foot on his back stopped Sebastian from standing. "Where are you off to Sebastian? You crawl on all fours wherever you go for the rest of the day. I want everyone to know who you belong to."

Sebastian broke into a cold sweat from the humiliation, and dishonor. He remained on all fours, with a dog collar around his neck, frozen in shame. He felt a gentle tug on the attached leash. The survival part of him, forced himself to start crawling. He had stopped barking. He was grateful that Moriarty had not commanded him to start again. They moved in silence toward the door to his suite, when a tug stopped him.

"Oh, I almost forgot this." Moriarty said cheerfully. Moran felt a scissor quickly cut a small hole in his clothing, before he felt a hard shove in his bum. He could not help gasping from pain. He froze as he heard Moriarty's words.

"Now wag your tail."

Sebastian did.

Moriarty's voice deepened. His words were slowly spoken and clear. "Sherlock Holmes is my equal. I respect no one except for him and his annoying brother. In the new world, I find none else worthy to stand beside me. Holmes is lost now. I consider it my duty to teach him who he truly is. If he is hurt, I will be the one to hurt him. If he is touched, I will be the one to touch him. If he dies, it will be by my hand. No one touches him without my permission. I hope this conveys my respect for him, and my true feelings for you…, pet."

Even Sebastian's darker complexion could not hide the flush of shame on his face. He kept thinking, repeatedly, '_This can't be happening…. This can't be happening…"_

Moran felt the swish of the false tail as it swung back and forth. He resumed crawling toward the door. Moriarty opened the door. The hallway was scattered with curious onlookers. He grimly considered how long of a crawl it was to the conference room.

Moriarty whispered for Moran's ears only. "Disobey me again Sebastian, and not even my affection for you as my pet, will save you. I'm not as nice as my father."

Moran did not dare to look at anyone. He focused on Moriarty's shoes. Dark-blue… Suede. He noticed that they were new. He crawled quietly beside Moriarty. Movement was agony. He pretended not to hear the occasional snicker, gasp of surprise and shock, or quiet laughter.

"_Scire quis sit __Magister__."_ He heard Moriarty whisper to him for the second time, as he led him away. "Remember who your Master is, Seb."

He felt his sanity on the verge of splitting when a thought held it precariously together. He took a ragged breath and repeated that thought, those two words in his mind. It was a goal. It was a promise.

Sherlock…

Holmes…

Sherlock…

Holmes…

Sherlock…

Holmes…

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Sometime Later**_

He walked up the stairs from Mrs. Hudson's flat. It was odd to consider that Irene had helped Mrs. Hudson to prepare a late supper. It was just entirely too… normal. Mrs. Hudson was warming the last of the meal. John would help her carry the food up in a few minutes.

He was tired. Very tired. It had already been late when they started home, and then a three car automobile accident had double the time it took to get back to the flat. They noticed several news broadcasters when the traffic had finally started to move again. It was the only thing on the telly.

John became distracted from his thoughts.

He smelled it before he saw it. It brought a smile to his tired face. He walked over and saw Irene drinking tea, and Sherlock drinking coffee, quietly, around the kitchen table. A hot, steaming third cup was present.

Sherlock was turned toward the window. Irene was watching him before turning to John. John glanced at the two before glancing at the third cup.

"It's for you John," she said with a smile.

John raised an eyebrow pleased as he took a sip of tea. He closed his eyes and sighed contently. It was perfect, absolutely perfect. He took another sip and spoke. Sherlock was very quiet. John tried to engage him about the case.

"The man killed, he was Moran's top man. Almost every time we dealt with Moran, he was by his side. Was he killed because he betrayed Moran?"

Sherlock answered without turning toward John. "It was because he was loyal, close to Moran." He said no more, but sipped slowly on his beverage. Both of Sherlock's hands were around the mug, as if he could will himself to absorb its warmth.

John frowned slightly as he took another sip. He could not help another contented sigh. It was the perfect flavor, just how he liked it…

An idea came into his mind. He tested it.

He looked at Irene apologetically. "I'm sorry, thank you Irene. How did you know how I liked my tea?"

"Oh, I can't take credit John, it was him." Irene motioned with her shoulder toward Sherlock.

John looked toward Sherlock.

Sherlock was already looking intently at him. It felt like an eternity had passed in the space of a few seconds. Sherlock was the first to look away. He took another sip of coffee as he leaned back, crossed his legs, and looked away from everyone.

Irene looked at the two men and said, "I'd better see if Mrs. Hudson needs any more help." She left quietly and closed the door behind her.

"How much do you remember?" John immediately asked without hesitation.

"Everything John except the last two months," Sherlock chuckled without humor, "Everything."

John exhaled, and then took two more sips of tea as he steeled himself. He rose and walked closer to Sherlock. Maybe it was time to push him to talk.

"It must be," John searched for the words, "difficult to have so many of your memories come back at one time."

Sherlock said nothing. He took a sip of coffee ignoring John.

John took another sip as he considered how to phrase his words. "You can't just push everything inside."

Sherlock remained quiet. He looked intently at the window as if by will and pure concentration; he could examine the thoughts of the whole of London.

John could not keep the annoyance out of his voice. "Sherlock, would you look at me mate?"

John noticed the undercurrent of stress in his friend's voice. "John, I'm fine as you can see. You get much too emotional sometimes. There is no need…"

"Bollocks!" John hissed as he slammed the teacup down more forcefully than he intended. "You need to talk!"

"I can't!" Sherlock growled as he found himself standing face-to face with John. His anger left as instantly as it came.

"I… I just can't…," the younger man whispered quietly as his left hand came to his face.

Sherlock's right hand gestured ambiguously. His face betrayed barely repressed emotion. It was the closes John had ever come to witnessing confusion, on the normally confident man's face. In a moment, it was gone.

John ghosted a hand across his face; the slight stubble of hair on his chin caused a scratching sound. There was so much that he should say; that he needed to say. He knew Sherlock better than anyone, he knew what would happen if he continued to lock everything unpleasant in a room somewhere in his mind palace. The results would not be pleasant, not for Sherlock, not for anyone who cared for him.

Not for the first time, he wondered what was in the Holmes brother's childhood that caused them to be so emotionally withdrawn. With Mycroft at least there seemed to be a natural inclination toward it. Sherlock, in contrast, seemed to be a naturally warm and caring person who had somehow recreated himself into something he was never meant to be. Like Frankenstein's monster, Sherlock's personality was created out of the severed parts, which were not his own originally, but was transfused onto his very soul.

Two ideas conflicted in John's mind. Something inside informed him that this was not the right time to push; something else, reminded him that there was no such thing as a good time. John made his choice.

"More Coffee?" He asked as he rose to walk toward the kitchen.

"Tea," Sherlock replied.

For the second time, they held each other's eyes briefly, before John disappeared into the kitchen.

A short time later, John paused as a small smile graced his lips. The low pitch, delicate sounds of the violin, whispered gently over his shoulders, and then into the room. He closed his eyes for a brief moment as he listened. It was as if all the emotions that his friend denied himself, seeped out through his music. The melodic sounds were as living things. It could not help touching the heart.

John inhaled and then exhaled as stress seeped out. He started to move again. Cream was added to both cups, and sugar to Sherlock's.

As Sherlock pulled the bow against the strings, the musical notes became more confident and the sound full, and rich.

There were gentle clank sounds, as the cups, extra cream, sugar, and the kettle was deposited on the elegant tray. John was normally not so formal unless they had visitors. The music inspired him to do a little something special.

John picked up the tray to carry it to the other room. This time there were no interruptions. Despite everything that had occurred that day, a feeling of calm came over him.

A cup of tea was silently deposited on a table close to Sherlock. John sat in his chair close to his friend.

Sherlock's eyes were closed, his body partially turned toward the window, as the lights of London reflected across his pale features. John took a sip, as he studied every look and change of expression. Soon the intensity broke, like ice on a very hot day. The look of utter concentration was replaced with one of acceptance, then peace. All that remained between the two men was contentment. A small smile graced John Watson's face as he closed his own eyes now.

Within a few minutes, Mrs. Hudson, and Irene Adler were sitting quietly listening to the resonant sounds. When Lestrade later joined them, his only acknowledgements were a nod, and a cuppa that was put in his hands.

Safe behind the walls of 221 B, all were lost in their own thoughts.

Outside those walls, each piece had been carefully positioned on the mental chess board. Countless persons position themselves or were unknowingly positioned, on one side, or the other. The world was on the edge, the final moves were being considered.

None of that mattered. For the moment, that brief moment, all that existed were the hum of the bow, as it pulled delicately against the strings of the Detective's violin.

* * *

A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. Lots of Love.

**Fun Question**: Does anyone know what the theme of Frankenstein's monster and Benedict Cumberbatch has in common. (I wonder if anyone will get this one.)

**Stop reading now unless you want a hint.**

Correction. It occurred 2010-2011 I think at The Royal National Theatre, London. The encore performances and broadcasts performance, (For those of us who were late. Clears throat,) was last year.**Thank you fans!**


	160. Chapter 160

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 160

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**Thank you for your recent post**: coolness10123 (You are correct, your brilliance shines.), Voldemort101, Bookworm Gal(Things are quiet for a moment, right?), goanago (Thank you for the multiple post. I agree, Jim is a complete nutter.), bruderlein (I think I give you the award for knowing the most about Frankenstein. :) ), kamelion( You wish is my command.), socalrose (Thank you for the multiple post. Is Moran under control now?), Prothoe(Thank you for your multiple post. More John and Sherlock. ), Kitiara88 (Thank you for your review and encouragement.), Lillkin (Thank you for posting more than once, Welcome.), . (More to come, love.), gemstone1234 (I hope you are well. He is more.) RawrxSushi (Hi. Yes, but there is more to come.), foxeeflame(Welcome, I am glad that you are enjoying it.), Benfan(Thank you for your multiple post. Also, thank you for encouragement.) Voldemort101(Thank you for eagle-like eyes.), hijohn (Thank you for the multiple post. I hope that you are well.), and to all guest and PMs, thanks.

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*****. *** T rated ****. ****

One post daily for the next three days.

I hope that you enjoy. Stay safe.

Last week's fun question was; _does anyone know what the theme of Frankenstein's monster and Benedict Cumberbatch has in common_. The answer is Danny Boyle's Frankenstein.

You all surprised me. I was not aware of how many of you followed Benedict's career so closely.

Congratulations: coolness10123 , goanago, bruderlein, socalrose, Kitiara88, Lillkin, Voldemort101 , gemstone1234, foxeeflame, Benfan.

"…Be cautious. Once a pawn moves, you are committed to that position. If your opponent then tries to attack your center, you can only defend it with your minor pieces…"

_Vieni Giocare_ means _Come Play_. Italian.

_Control The Center of Your Board…Part I_

* * *

"_**All the world's a stage, and all the men and women, merely players."**_ ~ William Shakespeare

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He saw the outline of the motorcar in the dim light. It was a little more than a heavy shadowy silhouette. He approached cautiously as his tense body prepared for anything. The fog of his breath dissipated in the cool night's air. The sun had just set, giving birth to the night.

His eyes squinted in the alley. They had already adjusted to the darkness, but there were still details that were difficult to see. Details such as, if they had a gun, or a syringe in their hands. He was completely in their power; he knew that. He was not surprised when footsteps were heard behind his back. His eyes shifted to the left, of their own accord, in the direction of the sounds, before returning in front of him, again.

He observed cautiously as they advanced on him, five men and total. He did not resist when a cloth bag was placed over his head. He was positioned in the back car seat more gently than he had hoped. He assumed that the windows were tinted. A man being driven with his head covered with a cloth bag tended to attract attention. He tensed as he waited for the stick of a needle. It never came.

His bloodhound like nose picked up familiar scents, as he sniffed the air gently. His brilliant mind worked out immediately what they were. He noticed the smell of formaldehyde and lime cleaners. It was faint, but it was present.

So, he thought, they had been prepared to force him into the vehicle, if he did not voluntarily get in. He felt his body tense, but forced himself to relax. After a few long minutes, he relaxed enough to try to listen to the sounds from outside the now moving motorcar, there were none. The vehicle must have been insulated against noise. He sighed gently. A clock was running in his mind. The subtle shifts, as gravity forced his body, toward the left, or to the right were noted mentally. He would have an estimation of where they took him. Although, he was not sure that piece of information would benefit him in any way.

There was nothing to do now, but wait.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

He was sitting cross-legged in the top, back of the room. His right hand came down without thought, and pressed the imaginary wrinkles from the jacket of his three-piece, tailored suit. That same hand finally came to rest on his crossed leg. His other hand rested firmly on the handle of his umbrella.

It was a late night, special session. There were no news cameras, or reporters in the room this time. The Prime Minister was speaking. The room contained all the members of Parliament. He usually avoided such gatherings, particularly in a reelection year. Nevertheless, it could not be avoided. He had private conversations with several senior ministers. A particularly critical piece of legislation was being presented to the Cabinet. He wanted to be present personally to witness the outcome. He knew what it would be, but left nothing to chance.

He sat quietly listening to the debates that were now flowing back and forth. His hands released his umbrella, and tucked it beside his chair. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, as he glanced at his watch. A slight vibration caught his attention. He frowned as he discreetly excused himself from the room.

He walked quietly to a private room, Anthea's dark, long hair bounced in time with her hasty steps. She was walking toward him in a hurried manner, along with several trusted agents.

"I'm sorry Sir. But I knew you would want to see this."

"I'm sure her Majesty's government can survive without me for a few minutes." Mycroft said distractedly.

Anthea nodded promptly. Her manicured fingers flew over the keys of her Smartphone. Within a few seconds, the information was transferred to Mycroft's mobile. He read the message quickly and raised an eyebrow. His teeth clenched together tightly.

"When did this happen?" He asked as he dialed a familiar number.

"Four minutes ago, Sir." Anthea said grimly. "For sixty seconds, two words flashed across every television screen, mobile phone, and electronic billboard in the greater London area. There were only two words Sir."

"What were they?" Mycroft said with frustration, as he now tried John's mobile.

"Vieni giocare," Anthea confirmed as she looked into Mycroft's eyes. "Come play," Mycroft said as he interpreted the saying.

"Keep an eye on them," Mycroft instructed Anthea as he motioned with a nod toward Parliament. She immediately walked toward the door to the room that he had just vacated.

Mycroft quickly followed the agents, as they sought the quickest way to exit the building.

* * *

_**Two Days Ago**_

_**221B Baker Street**_

John sighed as he walked from the bathroom. His short blonde hair was still wet from the morning shower. A few drops of water dripped on his bathrobe. He ignored it as he walked lazily toward the kitchen.

The last few months had been difficult, very difficult. Moriarty might have considered all of his activities and games fun, but it was not to those involved. At times, it had been life or death. The man did not see it as such. It had all been a game for his amusement.

John clenched his jaws as he thought about several different ways he would like to teach Moriarty about proper social behavior.

He automatically rinsed the tea towel. His short, but strong fingers reached for the coffee, bypassing his favorite tea. The cups clinked together as he placed them on a tray. Cream and sugar were hastily put on the tray as well. Within minutes, he was sitting at the kitchen table. A small, uncluttered space was provided as he gently moved Sherlock's papers, and random notes, to the left and to the right.

Sherlock's latest murder case had been disastrous. It wasn't that Sherlock did not solve the case, he did quickly and efficiently, and brilliantly as always. It was the shipwreck of egos, which he had left in his wake, which was John's concern. He had not been diplomatic in the least. He had been particularly irritable, and everyone was aware of that fact.

John shook his head.

A small, slightly guilty smile; left the corners of John's mouth as he sipped on the coffee. He thought about the past week and the antics of his flatmate, and best friend. It had started with the famous 'I am bored,' it then progressed when Sherlock had developed an unhealthy fondness for John's weapon. Mycroft had provided Sherlock with his own firearm, which John kept secured. However, Sherlock preferred to put holes in the wall with John's firearm. Although Sherlock would deny it, it was a bit sentimental.

John turned his eyes toward the wall. The yellow smiley face greeted him. "You were about to have a sister," he whispered.

John took another sip. He thought about the past several days, and Sherlock's unfortunate remarks to the Scotland Yard officers the day before. He tried not to have a headache.

_**2:17 AM**_

"_But, John, I needed a living tissue sample for the experiment to be accurate." _

_**10:31 AM**_

"_Tell me; is it painful when your thoughts bounce around in that tiny little brain of yours? There's no room for them to breathe."_

_**1:53 PM**_

"_You are good aren't you."_

"_Um… thank you," Constable Riggins said slowly as everyone looked with surprise and some relief."_

_Sherlock looked up from his phone screen. "I was talking about myself." Sherlock snorted. "You could not possibly have thought that I was referring to you, did you?"_

_**2:15 PM**_

"_John," Sherlock said as he rolled his eyes in exasperation, "How can I possibly insult her, she is dead, she has no feelings anymore."_

_**2:17 PM**_

"_Um Sherlock," John cleared his throat as he leaned his head toward the family of the victim._

_Sherlock looked at the family suddenly quiet. He then looked back to John. "Yes, so what did you want to tell me?"_

_**4:12 PM**_

"_I have what I need, feel free to blunder along," he said as he walked out the door. _

"_Sherlock!"_

_**4:38 PM**_

"_Dull! Boring! Predictable!"_

_**7:03 PM**_

"_Lestrade, you're threat is not legitimate. You can't actually fit your foot up my ars…" _

"_Sherlock!"_

John's thoughts returned to the present. "I'm not going to survive this." John mumbled, before he took another sip. He heard the soft, cat– like footsteps of his flatmate, as his bare feet softly hit the dark, rich wood.

"Coffee is on the table," John said casually without looking. He saw the corners of his flatmate's robe, as it waved out of the corner of one eye. He heard rather than saw Sherlock as he sighed heavily, and sat down.

John took a large sip of coffee, before turning to look at Sherlock. Sherlock would normally have been fully dressed. He was not, he was in a pajama bottom and T-shirt. His robe was hanging half off one shoulder. His flatmate's hair was unruly. The dark circles under his eyes, and dullness, betrayed another sleepless night. He also knew that Sherlock was beginning to have nightmares again.

John looked away wearily. He knew what had to be done, that still did not take away the unpleasantness.

"Sherlock… You know what I am going to say don't you mate?"

Sherlock looked wearily at John and quickly glanced away.

"It's time we had that talk, don't you think?" John had put down his coffee, and was turned fully toward Sherlock now.

"Fine John. You start to talk and I'll listen." Sherlock's face was perfectly composed, his expression neutral.

"You know what I mean smartarse." John's voice held no anger. Despite his harsh words, there was a fondness there.

Sherlock took another sip of coffee. Both hands wrapped around the warm cup, as he stared off toward the window. He bit his lower lip briefly before releasing the abuse piece of flesh. He sighed, turned toward John slowly, and then opened his mouth. However, the mobile phone sounded.

John watched as Sherlock exhaled a relieved breath, released his grip on his coffee, and then moved barefoot to the mobile. He reached into his suit jacket, which hung on the back of the dining room chair. John was not sure if he looked more relieved or annoyed by the interruption.

Sherlock pulled the mobile, and then looked at the text.

One look from Sherlock, and John knew. "I'll get dressed," he said simply.


	161. Chapter 161

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 161

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

*****. *** T rated ****. ****

One post daily for the next three days.

"…Be cautious. Once a pawn moves, you are committed to that position. If your opponent then tries to attack your center, you can only defend it with your minor pieces…"

_Vieni Giocare_ means _Come Play_. Italian.

_Control The Center of Your Board…Part I_

* * *

"_**All the world's a stage, and all the men and women, merely players."**_ ~ William Shakespeare

* * *

_**Two Days Ago**_

_**Scotland Yard**_

They walked slowly through the bullpen of the Scotland Yard Police Department. It had been a hard three weeks, but the last three days had especially been hard. They ignored the glances of several pairs of eyes as they walked slowly, and confidently toward the Detective Inspector' s office.

Detective Inspector Lestrade looked up from his piles of papers. His suit jacket was hanging haphazardly over the chair that he sat upon. The patterned necktie that he had taken to wearing of late, was laid on top of the slightly wrinkled jacket. Three cups of coffee, in various points of consumption, were set at different points upon his desk. The shadows under his eyes betrayed his tiredness, his face held a slight frown.

John frowned when he looked at his friend. He noticed Sherlock out of the corner of his eyes glancing at Lestrade as well. Neither of the men said a word.

He sighed as he motioned toward the two empty chairs in front of his desk. "The McConnell case is closed. Thanks to the two of you. I just need you to sign your statements and that, will be that."

Lestrade leaned back on his chair, closed his eyes for a moment, sighed heavily, then opened his eyes again. "We've got another body today. This one had a note attached to it."

The Detective Inspector pushed the crime scene photograph toward Sherlock. Sherlock did not touch it. Instead, he looked for a moment. Seconds melted into minutes, as he studied the glossy photograph in silence. Finally, he picked it up and further examined it.

Sherlock was strangely quiet. Both men noticed but did not comment.

"What's so unusual about this one Greg?"

Lestrade leaned forward slightly. "The note was written in blood. And there were two words on it."

"What were the words, Greg?" John asked.

"Vieni giocare." I'm about to get someone down here to translate.

They both looked at Sherlock hopefully, but neither said a word.

He was studying the picture of the corpse, with the message written above it. He said without looking at either one of the two men in the room, "It's a simple message, it means… Come play."

* * *

He walked into the small room , allowing the heavy door to close automatically behind him. He would pretend that he did not know that Lestrade, and John, were discussing him. He smirked at their attempt at being discreet.

He frowned as he walked over to the small table stand, which contained both tea, and coffee. He looked longingly at tea before turning away. He exhaled with regret as he poured out the coffee. His frown deepened, it looked like mud, thick mud. He opened two packets of sugar and allowed it to flow into the plastic container. He stirred distractedly. He took a sip. His lips came up into a sort of sneer. He looked at the sugar packets. Two more packets were quickly dispensed into the coffee. He took another sip. He gave a long, put upon sigh. It tasted like mud as well; no amount of sugar could change that fact.

He slowly sipped on the unpleasant tasting brown mixture, otherwise referred to as coffee. He had to consume it, he had no choice. He would not let John know how close he was to the truth about his physical condition. He was exhausted.

Not that he would admit it; mind. He had not slept well since his rescue from Anderson, and his incompetent comrades. The past three days had been the worse. The long forgotten nightmares had returned. He had woken three nights ago, gasping for air. He had been sweat soaked and tried to remember to breathe, as the ghosts, and demons of his dreams evaporated when he woke.

He had been sure he had not cried out, yet John's soft knock at his door, informed him, that he had at least been partially vocal. He had made it his personal mission since then, to stay awake. He caught short, fitful naps, until his body had been so exhausted, he had simply, passed out. He would never admit any of this to John. Of course not. He did not want him to worry. Perhaps a small part of him wished to pretend, that all was right as rain.

The door open and close behind him. Holmes instantly evaluated the pattern, gate, and instantly knew who those footsteps belong to.

"Sergeant Donovan," Sherlock said in between sips.

The footsteps advanced, becoming closer. Sally stood next to Holmes. "You looked bloody awful," she said matter of fact.

She stood close to him as she silently prepared her coffee. She took one-step, frowned then added several packets of sugar as she stirred.

"You called John," Holmes said while looking into his coffee.

Donovan frowned without saying a word. Holmes had a way of putting her off balance. Most people would have said good morning but not him. She was not sure if he was making a statement, or asking another question. You can never tell with him.

She waited.

"You did not tell anyone, what occurred, when you, John, and Anderson, were in Lestrade's office." Holmes hesitated slightly. "Rumors are that Anderson was arrested for falsifying documents," there was another slight hesitation, "and that he somehow attacked you, and Watson defended you because of it."

Holmes voice was hesitant. His voice was never hesitant. "No one seems to know that I was involved in any way. I have come to believe that you not only knew of these rumors, but encourage them in an attempt to deflect all attention away from me," Donovan glanced at him quickly, before looking away. "We both know," Holmes said, "I'm rarely wrong."

After sipping, she turned to look at Holmes. His eyes were piercing hers. Holmes seemed to be looking through her. It was disconcerting at best.

After a few more seconds of scrutiny, Holmes turned away to resume sipping his coffee. "John would have found me. However…" There was a strange look that flashed on Sherlock's face, but then it was gone. "… Things might have become unpleasant, by the time he did find me. If you had not alerted him, that is."

Donovan looked at Holmes. She had noticed the look in his eyes. If it was anyone other than Holmes, she would have said there was a look of vulnerability, or gratitude. She had known the man for years, the only thing she had ever witnessed was an arrogance, self-assured man with a bit of brilliance mixed in. Okay, more than a bit of brilliance, she admitted. If it was anyone other than Holmes, she would have said that she had witnessed him looking… Human. Twice in two weeks? Ridiculous. This was Holmes. Right?

Sally took a slow sip to give herself time to gather her thoughts. "You're rude, egotistical, self absorbed, arrogant as hell and a sodden twit at times."

She looked at him. The corners of her mouth turned up into a small smile. "However, you are **our **rude, egotistical, arrogant, sodden twit. I'll not see anyone hurt you; except me, of course, if you continue to try my patience."

Sherlock's mouth turned up into a similar smile. He took a sip of the disgusting coffee, before saying, "I see."

Donovan got uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and sipped the coffee as he continued to stare at her. She looked at him with the challenge.

"What!" She said with her best, annoyed voice.

"I never said a word, Sally," he stressed her first name. Probably in an attempt to annoy her, she was sure.

Donovan looked at Holmes with a raised eyebrow, "This doesn't mean we're friends or anything."

"Perish the thought," Sherlock said as he looked down at her with raised eyebrows of his own.

"You're still weird," She felt obligated to add.

They both stared at each other. The corner of Sherlock's mouth turned up into a smirk.

Donovan rolled her eyes, "And annoying."

"So I've been told… Frequently," Sherlock agreed.

It was Donovan's turn to hide a smile. She turned to leave. Sherlock's voice stopped her.

"Congratulations, David is not a complete idiot."

"How did you…?" She stopped herself. This was Holmes. She turned to glance at him as she walked toward the door.

"You know, in another time, you would have been burned as a witch, Sher… lock."

Sherlock smiled a real smile now as he watched Donovan. She looked at him as she slowly closed the door, smiling a little too sweetly.

* * *

_**Quiver Tree Forest**_

_**Namibia, Africa**_

The Russian man laid flat on the ground. His eyes dashed around nervously, despite the fact that he was well hidden. The darkness had been beneficial to him. He was hidden behind a quiver tree, as well as some providentially positioned rocks. He took out his metal flask and took a swig. He wiped away the drops that had managed to cling to the tips of his thick, black mustache. He hastily put away the flask as he took back up his binoculars. The sounds of jeeps off in the distance, was odd and out of place in the beauty that surrounded him. He adjusted his focus on the binoculars as his tongue ran lazily along the surface of his slightly cracked lips.

A humorless smirk came to his face. Someone was being paid off, and being paid well. The amount of men, and amount of equipment, heavy equipment at that; could not have entered such an area unnoticed. Whoever it was, had to be a government official. Someone of importance, he would think. The entire area had been closed to tourists, and citizens alike. Men with guns were stationed to discourage anyone that might want to, not follow the rules. No one seemed to think it odd. At least, no one would admit to that thought officially.

He shivered. He was not sure if it was the cool night air, or his heart that caused the reaction. The men were busy bringing in equipment. It seemed an odd sort of place, to be positioning such a large force. A huge truck brought in something. Whatever the device was, it made a lot of noise as they positioned the metal crane upward toward the sky. The sounds of metal scraping metal, as well as clicking sounds were made. There was an odd, loud sort of rhythmic ping as the metal device was slowly raised toward the stars. Whatever it was seemed to have a strong magnetic pull. Even at the distance, which he hid, he could feel the slight magnetic pull on his metal buckles. Plastic computers were now pulled out, men went back and forth in a frantic, yet organized motion. The Russian heard words, which were spoken in the Namibian language.

The Russian's body tensed for a minute. The activities had increased suddenly. Men with the guns, and a nervous look upon their faces, suddenly ran out in different directions. He thought of a quick retreat. However, it was not wise to move at the moment. Except for the movement of his chest, to take air in and out, he dared not move. He relaxed slightly when he noticed that the soldiers moved away from him, not toward him. Time seemed to move slowly at that point, only his timepiece inform him that he had been in that same position for thirty-seven minutes.

There was suddenly shouting to the northeast of him. A chorus of different voices, one voice in particular frightened, and pleading, was heard in front of him. The Russian's mouth opened slightly. He did not notice that his hand tightened on the binoculars, or that his tongue came again to lick his lips. His heart rate increased suddenly. He watched as a young man was dragged in front of the camp. He was pushed onto his knees. One soldier had a hand firmly placed on the skinny man's shoulders. His white shirt seemed obscene against the black of the night. He seemed to have scraped his knees when they pushed him to the ground. The young man never noticed. He was preoccupied, as he pleaded with the soldiers.

He had to force himself, not to get up; not to run to the aid if the very young, very frightened man. He could not, he knew it would be both of their lives.

He could not help the flinch. The rhythmic pop – pop – pop sound of automatic weapons being discharged, seem to echo. The young man's body jerked in beat, as if he was doing some sort of odd, gruesome, macabre dance.

Even in the dark, the spread of the red could clearly be seen.

The Russian turned away, rolled onto his back, and lay flat on the ground. He looked upward at the stars. They were shining brightly, as they interrupted the darkness.

Beautiful, he thought.

His hand came up to touch his receding, gray tinged hair. He took one last look at the beautiful sky. The Milky Way galaxy, a spiral galaxy of at least two hundred billion stars. He closed his eyes as if he wanted to memorize each one. At that moment he felt very small, yet each life became more important than all those stars. The young man would not have died in vain. New determination flooded his body. Despite his previous inner conflicts, he would do whatever was required. He thought of her then, she had to know.

Within minutes, he had slipped away, unnoticed. The soldiers were now distracted. Years of practice, and building his body, had made his mile run effortless. As the noises and the horror became further, and more distant, he slowed to a jog.

He needed to get the information to her. However, contacting her at this point in the game, would be more complicated. He would have to be cautious, for both their sakes.

The Russian's breath came in regularity. He was almost to the safety of his Jeep, yet, he continued to jog, not slowing his pace. He soon left the trees, and the sky, and the horror behind.

He ran.

* * *

A/N: Fun question on next post.

Thank you all so much for your support and suggestions. Love to all.

There will be one post daily for the next three days, then a break.


	162. Chapter 162

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 162

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

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**Warning Moriarty*******. *** T rated ****. ******Need I Say More**?

One post daily for the next three days. This is number two.

I hope that you enjoy. Stay safe.

Last week's fun question was; _does anyone know what the theme of Frankenstein's monster and Benedict Cumberbatch has in common_. The answer is Danny Boyle's Frankenstein.

You all surprised me. I was not aware of how many of you followed Benedict's career so closely.

Congratulations: coolness10123 , goanago, bruderlein, socalrose, Kitiara88, Lillkin, Voldemort101, gemstone1234, foxeeflame, Benfan.

"… Be cautious. Once a pawn moves, you are committed to that position. If your opponent then tries to attack your center, you can only defend it with your minor pieces…"

_Vieni Giocare_ means _Come Play_. Italian.

_Control the Center of Your Board… Part I_

* * *

"_**Don't run away. "**_

_**" I'm not running away. I'm already gone."  
**_  
~Kami Garcia, _Beautiful Darkness_

* * *

_**One Day Ago**_

_**Early Evening **_

_**221 B Baker Street**_

"Rubbish!" Was said a little more forcefully than necessary.

The skin around her eyes, and lips wrinkled as she tightly pressed her lips together. Mrs. Hudson looked at the two men and puffed out a light breath. She knew them both well enough, to know when a storm was brewing. John was determined to have Sherlock share his feelings. Sherlock was determined to have John leave him alone. It had been a long day.

John had looked at Mrs. Hudson for support. She offered a few words of wisdom, but knew when the younger man was not in a mood to listen. John was still determined. She sighed again, more dramatically this time. One finger came to the corner of her mouth, as the other hand found her hip.

Oh my, Mrs. Hudson thought to herself. John was becoming louder. Sherlock was becoming more stubborn. She could tell by the set of his mouth, and the way that one shoe, at the end of his cross-legs, was starting to tap the air.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson whispered to the air. John was getting louder, and Sherlock's foot was tapping faster.

John suddenly stopped his rant. He turned to Mrs. Hudson, ignoring his flatmate for a minute. "Do you mind Mrs. Hudson? I would like to discuss something was Sherlock." John plastered a false smile.

"I'm sure you would," Mrs. Hudson said quietly.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson. What did you say?" John asked with a slight look of confusion on his face.

Mrs. Hudson smiled a false smile of her own. "Oh, nothing dear. I'll be right downstairs if you boys need me." Mrs. Hudson moved as quickly as her hip would allow. She knew John's grand speech, was code for, I'm getting ready to yell at my sodden twit of a mate.

John watched as Mrs. Hudson retreated. She closed the door. John considered the fact that it was extraordinarily rare to close the door. No one in that building closed the doors to their flats. It was always open. John looked at the door. Well, almost always. He thought about Sherlock again.

John slowly turned his eyes toward Sherlock. He sat down in an attempt to calm himself. He counted to ten, slowly. He ran a hand through his short blonde hair. It caused his hair to stand up, and spike on end. He did not notice.

"You're being stubborn." He said in a voice that he hoped sounded calm.

Sherlock said nothing. His jaws clenched tighter. A small scowl came on his face.

All right, John thought, it was time to bring out the big guns, so to speak. The ex-soldier came to the surface of John. He had to think strategically when Sherlock was in these moods.

Sherlock's face suddenly betrayed a calm. "It's not going to work John; you're only going to get frustrated. Accept the fact that you are overreacting."

John said nothing he simply raised an eyebrow. He appeared outwardly calm. Sherlock knew better, he frowned more.

Sherlock's strong hands grabbed the armrests of his chair. "Well, this has been fascinating." He did not try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He made a motion as if he was going to rise.

"**Sit!"**

Sherlock sat quickly. John's voice had startled him. He cursed within himself, for his automatic reaction. He was used to soldier John in times of danger, but soldier John so rarely showed up in their flat, it was a bit of a shock.

He was embarrassed, and more than a little angry for being reined in. Sherlock slowly turned his narrowed eyes toward John.

John was expressionless. In fact, if anything, he appeared more calm than before. John slowly took up his cup of tea and took a sip. He refreshed Sherlock's cup of tea and slowly pushed it toward him. The sound of the cup, as it scraped on the wood, seemed too loud.

"You've been having trouble sleeping lately. You've never slept well, mind, but since your rescue from Anderson, it's been especially… Difficult." John looked straight ahead and took another sip.

Sherlock uncrossed his legs, and put both legs flat on the floor. He looked at John. They knew each other so well it was becoming more difficult to fool his best mate.

Sherlock did not consider the fact that he used the word mate automatically now; both in his thoughts, and with those whom were close to him.

Sherlock squirmed slightly; he stopped when he noticed what he was doing. He opened his mouth to deny what John said. However, he could not bring himself to lie to John.

"You're having nightmares again, for three days, I think." John looked at him for the first time in minutes now. "Did you really think that you could fool me, Sherlock?"

"I wasn't trying to deceive you John." Sherlock's voice was low, yet sincere.

John's face softened. "I know. I know mate." John tapped Sherlock's arm softly. Sherlock and John looked at each other. Their previous argument, and anger, was forgotten instantly.

"I know it's not easy for you Sherlock, but you cannot afford to go into this final game with a distracted mind." John continued. "Do you even remember last night?"

Sherlock frowned thinking. It was all a bit hazy. He thought he had a nightmare, but then it went away. He did not want to admit that he did not remember.

"You were actually moaning. The noise woke me, and Mrs. Hudson. I told her to go back to sleep, that I would check on you." John took a breath, "When I came in, you have broken out into a cold sweat, fighting. You were twisted in your sheets like an Egyptian mummy." John smiled sadly, "you were saying curse words that I did not know you knew the meaning of."

Sherlock's entire body went rigid. His eyes flickered rapidly between John, the floor, and the table, as if he were trying to rein in a coherent thought. His face and neck flushed. He put his hand on his cup of tea for the first time. He needed to hold something to keep him grounded to the space he was in. He looked intently at the cup of tea, as if the mysteries of the universe would be revealed at any moment.

John hesitated, he sensed his friend's discomfort. He did not stop, however. He knew that Sherlock needed to be pushed, as painful as that push might have been. "You were telling someone to stop. Your voice was a strange combination of anger, confusion, and… and fear."

Sherlock remained silent for a moment. His eyes moved from the cup to the ceiling now. His mouth opened. John waited hopefully. However, it then closed wordlessly. Sherlock resumed staring at his cup.

John was disappointed, but then continued. "I tried to wake you. Without touching you of course. Even sleepy, you have a good punch." John looked far away, as if he was reliving the night while he talked about it. "Your eyes opened. But, it was as if you didn't see me."

John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock brought the cup of tea to his mouth. He put it to his lips; however, he lowered it without taking a sip.

John forced himself to continue. "You were in a panic. I know the difference between a nightmare and a flashback Sherlock. I've had my share of flashbacks from the war. You were having a flashback."

John looked down at his cup of tea. "My voice seemed to calm you down. After several long minutes your eyes closed, and you seemed to go back to sleep. I stayed with you for a few hours just talking about anything, everything. I had this insane idea that even though you were sleeping, you could still hear my voice."

John took another sip of tea, "After a few hours I left your room. I thought you might have been embarrassed if you knew what happened, although we both know each other well enough where you should not have been. There was no need to be embarrassed, not then, not ever, not with me."

Sherlock spoke suddenly, quietly. "That's why I have to stay away from emotions, John; sentiments, feelings."

John looked grim. "I understand that you believe that, Sherlock, but here's the fact, pushing your feelings down, locking them away somewhere in your mind palace, is not the way to do it. You know what will happen, Sherlock. You're human, whether you want to admit that fact or not. Trying to keep your feelings away, it is like trying to keep rainwater out of a house, when the roof is leaking. The rainwater will find its way in, if there's any weakness, or damage. There is nothing for it, but to repair the roof Sherlock."

Sherlock attempted a smile, as he considered John's analogy. "Are you saying that I am a leaky roof… emotionally, John?"

John smiled at his friend, and he locked eyes with him. He looked down briefly at his cup, before looking at his flatmate to answer. "Yes," he said sincerely.

Sherlock's smiled left instantly. He put down his tea on the table beside his chair. One of Sherlock's arms rested on the armrest of his chair. The other hand came up to his chin. The thumb rubbed back and forth. John was silent. He knew that he could argue, plead, scream, or rant, but in the end, it was Sherlock's choice.

"Some of the memories that have returned were most… Unpleasant." Sherlock frowned. His face was still turned away from John. John listened patiently. When Sherlock said nothing more, he decided to push a little.

"I know that some of the things that you've been through our difficult Sherlock. The fact that you're still here, still functioning, is a testament to your strong will. We tell each other everything anyway," John smiled, "eventually."

"You know almost everything about the time that I was kidnapped; by Ayyad's terrorists. However, there might have been," Sherlock search for the words, "one or two things, perhaps three, that we have not discussed yet." Sherlock looked toward John. "It's not that I was keeping it from you John, it's just…"

The ringing of Sherlock's mobile interrupted the two men. John audibly huffed. He wanted to tell Sherlock to ignore it, he wanted to get on the mobile and tell whoever it was to call back later. He did not, this was Sherlock.

To his surprise, Sherlock did not move immediately.

John saw his opportunity. "Would you like me to get that for you Sherlock? Or, maybe you could give a ring back later."

Sherlock said nothing. He simply attempted a small smile as he raised and walked toward his mobile. He looked at the caller and for a moment considered ignoring it. He had ignored two identical messages earlier. Suddenly an email came. Sherlock open the email. He opened the attachment as well. He stood still.

John looked at Sherlock. He stood, but did not move. "Sherlock is everything okay?"

"Hum?" He said distractedly, "Oh yes," he attempted a smile at John, but it looked strained. "Mycroft is being annoying again. He's checking on me as if I'm a child. He'll be by later. He wants me to look over the codes again."

John exhaled relieved. "Oh."

Sherlock held the mobile phone in his hand, before slipping it into his pocket. He stood still for a moment, looking out the window.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I need to …" Sherlock waved one hand in the air, as if the act could complete his thought.

"You need to talk," John finished for him.

John noticed Sherlock's nod, before he noticed his friend's wince. One eye closed as Sherlock grimace deepened. He rubbed his forehead absentmindedly.

"Headache," John said needlessly.

"A bit," Sherlock said. "Do you mind making some tea? Earl Gray seems appropriate for such emotional.… Things," he shrugged.

"I'm sorry Sherlock," John said frowning, "I think we used the last yesterday."

"I think Mrs. Hudson has some." Sherlock responded casually.

Sherlock looked down, "I'll lie down until it's ready." He walked to his room.

"All right mate," John said sympathetically. He hated the fact that Sherlock was having headaches again. At least he was not having the nosebleeds he thought gratefully.

John walked into the kitchen. He put the kettle to boil before walking down to Mrs. Hudson's flat. He listened to her gossip for a few minutes as she looked for the tea. They agreed which flat they would have supper in. It would be the boys' flat so that Sherlock could rest.

John walked back into the flat with a smile on his face. He would never admit it out loud, but her gossiping and antics had been unusually entertaining. He walked over to the kitchen. The smell of steam, the fragrance of the leaves, and the sound of boiling water filled his senses. He put the loose tealeaves into a strainer and poured the hot water above it. He watched impassively as the clear liquid became stained brown.

Within minutes, John was walking slowly toward Sherlock's bedroom, to inform his friend that the tea was set out in front of the couch.

The knuckles of his hand met the hardwood in rapid strikes. There was no answer. A part of John debated. John knew that his friend needed to rest. A part of him thought that it was better to turn and leave so that he could rest; another part knew that it was best to not let a rare cooperative mood go to waste. It was not every day that Sherlock Holmes agreed to have a heart-to-heart talk.

Decision made, he knocked at the door again. "Sherlock," no answer came. The younger man had rarely slept in three days. He had probably crashed physically. If that were the case, it would be difficult to wake him for at least three hours. John huffed softly frustrated at the opportunity lost. He turned to walk away but stopped after two steps, something nagged at him.

He quickly returned to the door. "I'm coming in, okay?" John remembered how Sherlock love to strip, when he wasn't feeling well.

There was no answer.

John sighed as he pushed the door open while saying. "Make sure you're covered, I don't want my eyes to burn," his voice and smile died instantly, as he looked around the room.

The burning in his lungs informed him of his need to inhale. John suddenly inhaled both oxygen and anger. John took out his mobile and hit the keys so forcefully, it was practically an assault. He could not help the muttering as he waited for Mycroft to answer.

"The tricky, manipulative, son of a bit…"

* * *

"_**From his brimstone bed at break of day**_

_**A walking the Devil is gone,**_

_**To visit his snug little farm the earth,**_

_**And see how his stock goes on.**__**" ~Unknown**_

* * *

_**One Day Ago **_

_**Unknown Location**_

Holmes walked cautiously into the moderately size room. He looked warily around for Sebastian Moran. Sherlock looked around and thought quietly.

He was not there. He was never, not there. So, Sherlock thought, Moran and Moriarty were having a bit of a domestic.

Interesting.

The room was not full of men as expected. In fact, there was no one but two men who were off in the corner on opposite sides of the room. He had no doubt that with a snap of his fingers several armed men would appear . Moriarty sat there, crossed-legged. He had a linen napkin on his thigh. He took a sip of something that looked like wine. It was a bit early for alcohol but; Moriarty was not a typical man.

Sherlock looked oddly at the table with the meal on it. It had meat, baby potatoes, and carrots in a white wine sauce. The rare times that Sherlock ate red meat, he preferred Filet Mignon. It was, in fact, his favorite. It was even prepared the way that he liked it. He held in his sigh as he walked up to the empty, high-back chair and after the briefest of hesitations, sat.

Moriarty smiled at his confidence as he motioned without a word toward the mouthwatering meal. Sherlock considered that there was a forty percent possibility that it was poison, not enough to kill him, just enough to make him sick. Moriarty used people like one would use an object. People were just things. They were there for his amusement. The thought that they were actually, living things, never entered Jim's mind.

Moriarty did not say a word, he simply watched Sherlock, as a cat would watch a mouse.

Sherlock's stubbornness came out. He looked at the knife that Moriarty had put on the table. Moriarty glanced at the knife and raised an eyebrow. He, however, did not say another word.

Sherlock moved the knife down and cut into the tender cut of meat. The juices ran generously down the sides of the moist steak. He put the meat into his mouth and chewed with purpose. Knowing it could be poisoned made the first bite that much sweeter. He savored the flavor as he chewed thoroughly. He never took his eyes away from Moriarty.

Moriarty watched him for a few seconds as a smile transformed his face. He picked up his knife, and fork and mimicked Sherlock's actions as he ate his steak. They ate in silence for a few minutes until Sherlock spoke first.

"This is an apology."

"Psychopaths don't apologize." Moriarty took another bite of his rare meat. Sherlock ignored the red juice that ran down his mouth before it was wiped away by a cloth napkin. "And I, my dear, am the master of all psychopaths."

Moriarty picked up his crystal wine glass and looked at Holmes wine glass. Sherlock's fingers came up and spread delicately in front of his body. At the same time, Holmes gave a slight shake of his head. Moriarty gave a discrete nod at Sherlock before taking a sip.

"This is?" Sherlock wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin.

"I like being the sole recipient of your attentions."

"I hadn't noticed," Sherlock said with a serious voice.

Moriarty's smile widened. "I wanted to feed you a good meal before I burned your heart out. I see no way out of it. You have failed every lesson I have given you in the last few months."

Sherlock did not respond to Moriarty but leaned back in the chair and watched him carefully. "I have to break you of these bad habits you've developed over the past few years, such as feelings, emotional attachments, caring, worse of all, being noble." Moriarty's face scowled as if he had eaten something sour, before he took one last sip of wine, and then put it down for the last time.

He turned his full attention to Sherlock. "Look what they, especially your pet, have reduced your mind to. I consider it my duty, I have to show you the right way."

Sherlock did not like the way that he kept making subtle references to John. He made an effort to remain bored looking.

"Is your course set Sherlock?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered simply.

"What do you think about the things that I've said?" Moriarty asked curiously.

"Which part Jim?" Sherlock said with raised eyebrows. "Would you like me to comment on your narcissistic rant? Or would you like me to deduce your current level of mental health?" Sherlock knew that it was the wrong thing to say, but he did not like Moriarty discussing John, he was exhausted, and the man was annoying.

"Have you forgotten who I am, my dear?" Moriarty looked at Sherlock. Jim's expression appeared especially calm, except when one saw his eyes, madness danced in them. "Do you have any idea how far my hands can reach? And, not just in London love. With a thought, I can kill someone in Mozambique. With a wink, give life in Russia. I can assassinate Kings, or influence the political structure of the country. If I'm bored, I can set off bombs in three countries simultaneously, all before lunch."

Moriarty lean towards Sherlock. "I could slip in and out and make you bleed. Pleasure or pain is within my hands. I could cut the heart, and liver out of one of your pets, and force you to eat it. I would have it prepared with these teeny-tiny potatoes, and delicious baby carrots; right before I watch the world burn."

Moriarty was quiet for a few seconds, before his voice suddenly became cheerful again.

Moriarty winked. "Yum… Yum, by the way. The liver tastes a little salty but it's delicious in a white wine sauce. Although I wouldn't recommend the heart. It's a little rubbery. Not even the white wine sauce can make it palatable. Maybe I should try a different sauce." Moriarty had a broad grin on his face now.

There was a few more seconds of silence.

"That was imaginative." Sherlock had a straight face.

"Well then," Sherlock said with raised eyebrows, as he reached for his scarf. "Do you plan to torture me?"

"Not today," Jim replied amicably.

"Right then, thank you for the meal," Sherlock started to rise. "I'll pop out."

Moriarty rose as well and smiled. "You're welcome." A bag went over his head as the darkness enveloped him, "Think about what I've said. It is for your benefit."

As he was being lead away, he heard Moriarty's childlike, singsong voice. "Sher… lo… ck…"

* * *

Forty minutes later, Sherlock was dumped in an alley in a disreputable part of town. He waited for five minutes, as told, before he took the bag off his head. Now, his fingers raced across the keys of his mobile. He was thankful that he had not been drugged. Drugs with food, probably meant that he would have spent the next several hours being sick, and vomiting over the whole of London.

Despite the bag over his head, Sherlock knew the city well enough to know the approximate area that he had been taken. Mycroft's men would be there quickly. He, however, doubted that Moriarty would have been found.

Within seven minutes, the screeching tires of a black sedan were heard. Four agents ran into the alley. Two were helping Holmes to his feet and looking him over for injuries. The other two were looking around for danger with guns drawn.

He sighed. Sherlock knew that there was no point in telling the agents to put their guns away. He knew that they would follow procedure. He raised his eyebrows as he read an incoming text from Mycroft. He opened then closed his mouth in a frown. He decided he would not respond. He sulked when he considered the fact that he still had to face John. His frown deepened.

* * *

A/N: This is posting number two out of three. One more bonus chapter to go. It will be posted late tomorrow or early Tuesday. All acknowledgments, and the fun question, will be given at the last posting. (Posting Number Three.)


	163. Chapter 163

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 163

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

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Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

This is the last of the daily post. More soon.

**Apologies to all**. I meant to have this posted very early on Tuesday but I had an emergency at work. I had to be there, ridiculously early on Tuesday into the night. In spite of my best intentions, I collapsed into a semi coma after. Even though the chapters were written, I did not feel comfortable posting, until I had a chance to read through at least once for typos.

I hope that you enjoy. Stay safe.

Last week's fun question was; _does anyone know what the theme of Frankenstein's monster and Benedict Cumberbatch has in common_. The answer is Danny Boyle's Frankenstein.

You all surprised me. I was not aware of how many of you followed Benedict's career so closely.

Congratulations: coolness10123 , goanago, bruderlein, socalrose, Kitiara88, Lillkin, Voldemort101, gemstone1234, foxeeflame, Benfan.

"… Be cautious. Once a pawn moves, you are committed to that position. If your opponent then tries to attack your center, you can only defend it with your minor pieces…"

_Vieni Giocare_ means _Come Play_. Italian.

_Control the Center of Your Board… Part I_

* * *

"_**Life's disappointments are harder to take when you don't know any swear words."**_

~ Calvin & Hobbes

* * *

_**Fifteen Hours Earlier**_

_**221 B Baker Street**_

It was past three in the morning. No one was asleep. How could they be? John and Mrs. Hudson were still awake. Mrs. Hudson had left, to get some refreshments. John also knew that she had left because, his constant pacing back and forth, had made her nervous.

Mycroft had been in and out, and Lestrade had stopped by twice, despite the fact that he had to be at Scotland Yard in a few hours. He had looked even more exhausted than the day before.

John's eyes glanced down and to the right, without losing a step. The screen of his mobile phone was irritatingly unchanged.

John had sent a quick, angry text, to Mycroft. He had just left fifteen minutes ago, to follow a lead on his wayward brother. Ten minutes after that, the elder Holmes had called to notify John that Sherlock was, "…on his way to the flat." He could tell by the tightness of Mycroft's voice, that he was also not pleased with his brother.

_He would kill him! Not literally of course_. John ground his teeth together in anger. _Well, maybe literally._

"Don't be ridiculous Watson, not literally," John muttered, correcting his thoughts., "You'd miss the annoying sod."

He glanced at the door that led to the stairs. He stilled for a moment, huffed noisily, tried to calm himself, but then resumed pacing. Several officers and agents were in 221 B, or at Mrs. Hudson's flat. They thought it wise to stay physically out of the angry man's way.

John heard him before he saw him. There was a slight commotion that floated in from the lower level. Mrs. Hudson's voice was heard, as she greeted the Consultant Detective. He said nothing; he simply waited. Several police officers, and agents, abruptly became silent. The volume seemed to have suddenly been dialed down.

John closed his eyes and tried to even out his too fast breathing. He counted from ten backwards, slowly, as he listened to his flatmate' s slow ascent. He listened as the sounds of retreating feet floated around them. The sound of the door opening and closing was heard in the distance.

One tentative pair of footsteps came to rest directly in front of John. John slowly opened his eyes. Sherlock's eyes were piercing into his.

"I had to, John." The fact that they were now alone was lost on both men.

"You're an idiot," John hissed angrily, with folded arms.

"I had it all under control John," Sherlock said more quietly than he normally would have. He would not purposely provoke the already angry man.

John looked up at Sherlock without saying a word.

"I had to, John," Sherlock repeated uncharacteristically. Sherlock normally loath repeating himself.

"You can't rescue the world," John's voice was barely above a whisper.

"He showed me a picture of a Café, John. He threatened to blow it up. He gave me a choice, a chat, or an explosion. He said no harm would come to me."

John was silent. He had a murderous look in his eyes.

Sherlock cleared his throat before he began to speak again. "There was a sixty percent chance that he just wanted to see me in person and talk."

"Oh," John said as he tried to get his anger under control. He clenched his jaws for a second before speaking. His voice was rough with emotion, "I see."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Despite his best efforts, he was starting to be annoyed. "There was only a forty percent chance that he would poison me, but out of that, there was only a five percent chance that he wanted to seriously hurt me in some way that would require hospitalization."

John paused again as he locked eyes with Sherlock. "That makes it alright then. That there was only forty percent chance that he would kill you, torture you, or make you scream in some unpleasant way that I'd rather not think of." He huffed, "Right."

Sherlock pouted. "Forty percent for poison, only five percent for torture, John," Sherlock muttered almost childishly.

John had had enough. "I don't want to hear statistics now Sherlock. I want to know why you feel that your life is worth less than everyone else's life. I want to know why you would injure yourself jumping off a building. Fake your own death. And then, and then Sherlock; go to the ends of the earth to save me, and those who you care about."

John had to take a moment to gather his thoughts, and get his emotions under control. He lowered his voice. "Yet, you take such drastic steps with your own safety."

John looked into Sherlock's eyes. "Logic is wonderful Sherlock. You have the most interesting personality and greatest mind if anyone I know, except for your brother. But, I want to hear from your heart. Speak from your heart not your head Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned. "Logic is what I have John."

"You have made emotional decisions to save me, even when it was not logical."

"You're projecting John. I always use logic…" Sherlock was interrupted.

"Bullocks!" John hissed.

Sherlock thinned his lips and looked away.

John shook his head and sighed. His anger suddenly left, he was instead tired. "Logic is what you have, you say? Alright Sherlock, let's go with that."

"You used logic, not emotions you claim. Alright. Explain something then. A few months ago, when we were playing one of Moriarty's games. How did you use logic, why was it better for you to take the poison, and not me?"

Sherlock frowned more. His fingers played with the edge of his sleeve cuff. John recognized this as a nervous gesture, just like the biting of his lower lips. The younger Holmes would deny such things, of course. He seemed to be thinking of a logical explanation for an emotional decision. Sherlock eyes suddenly lit up. He had thought of something. It would be good. John folded his arms and waited for it.

Sherlock eyes lifted from the floor to John's eyes now. He looked at John with a blank face and said.

"I'm bigger than you John. It would take the poison longer to affect me than you. I had the entire thing under control." Sherlock waved a hand in the air signaling his desire to end the conversation. He tried to hide the grimace that the small movement caused. Even though it was over a week. Sherlock abdomen was still sore from fighting off so many men at the warehouse.

John noticed.

"Sherlock, I AM a medical doctor or did you forget? It goes by body weight, not height. Despite your being taller, I think we weigh about the same. In fact, I have weighed more than you until recently."

Sherlock opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. John interrupted him with an outstretched hand.

"Even If that was the case. Was it logical for you to have a grab for the keys in the container with the snake? If the snake's bite plus the poison did not kill you, the antivenin plus the poison would have. Still you said nothing to protect me, and my sister, and to get Lestrade back. Yes, you did use your wit. Still, those were emotional decisions. I am not an idiot."

"Best to stay off that subject." Sherlock said frostily as he tried to walk away.

John moved in front of him and blocked his way. Sherlock had forgotten how quick John could be.

"Do you mind?" Sherlock said with irritation.

Sherlock pushed his lips together impatiently, and looked down at the smaller man. Despite his smaller size, Sherlock was well aware that if the soldier in John came out, he could be formidable.

"Answer a question Sherlock, and I'll get out of your way."

"You would do anything to protect me."

Sherlock smirked. "That's not a question John."

"Sherlock!" John glared.

"Perhaps," Sherlock said warily, looking away.

John's voice softened. "I would do the same. We are in a relationship Sherlock. A weird, bizarre one perhaps but a relationship nonetheless. In a relationship, people do not lie to each other."

"Technically, I did not lie…" Sherlock said defensively.

"… Or," he interrupted, "keep things from one another." John interrupted with irritation.

"You're asking a lot John. You know who I am."

"All I am asking is that, even if I get angry, or curse, or throw a wobbly," he looked at Sherlock, "or disagree; don't keep anything from me. Not when it comes to your health or safety."

"I'll think about it John."

"For you, that's a lot," John conceded. He moved out of Sherlock's way.

Sherlock did not move, but instead, looked into John's eyes. John smiled as he saw the Consultant Detective wrestle with himself, then surrender.

Sherlock looked annoyed, "Don't look smug John."

John smiled more.

"If your life is in danger, this agreement is void." Sherlock looked self-satisfied.

John was happy for the compromise and quickly agreed, nodding once. "I assume that goes both ways Sherlock."

Sherlock's satisfied look left. He frowned, and looked concerned for the first time.

John looked smugly at his friend. "Doesn't feel that good when the shoes on the other foot, does it mate."

Sherlock's frown deepened, as he looked at John.

"Boys," they heard Mrs. Hudson's voice. She looked relieved to find them both standing with no blood on her rugs. She took a look at both men's faces. "Did I miss something dears?"

Both men looked from her face to each other, wordlessly.

* * *

Everyone had left the flat quickly. Within twenty minutes, even the agents had been gone. Everyone knew they had not actually left; they had just positioned themselves outside the flat, in their motorcars.

Mrs. Hudson was downstairs. She was trying to get her much needed sleep. John was in the kitchen. John thought that except for coffee and tea, Sherlock had not eaten for over thirty hours. John was unaware, of Moriarty's bizarre dinner.

"Sherlock what kind of sandwiches do you want?" John placed the tea on the tray. Cream and sugar quickly followed. He looked in the refrigerator, as he wondered what his flatmate would eat.

John raised the volume of his voice, "Sherlock! What kind the sandwiches do you want?" He looked at the two choices that Mrs. Hudson had prepared.

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed two wrapped sandwiches from the refrigerator. He would give him his choice. He piled everything onto the tray. He hoped that nothing would slip off before he reached the table. While balancing the tray, he walked carefully but quickly into the room. He cautiously lower the tray to the table next to the sofa.

"Sherlock," John looked over to Sherlock and raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock was lying on his back on the couch, with his lips partially separated. One hand was dragged on the floor, while the other hand was resting on his stomach. His feet were partially off the sofa, dangling.

John heaved a sigh. He disappeared from the room for a few minutes. He returned carrying a thick blanket. The fact that he removed Sherlock shoes and jacket without him stirring, was telling. He had finally crashed. He would be asleep for at least three hours now.

John looked at him for a few, long, seconds. John closed his eyes and allowed the stress to drain away. He was unharmed. Thank God. He swallowed the lump that was in his throat, before opening his eyes. John covered Sherlock with the blanket, and then pulled it up to his chin. A small smile graced the corner of his lips. He turned his eyes toward the tray. He tried not to make any noise when he carried it back to the kitchen.

* * *

**_Vienna, Austria _**

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time_**

The bank executive rose from his expensive leather chair, as quickly as his large frame would allow. Years of business transactions had developed automatic reactions in the man. He mechanically buttoned close his tailored suit jacket. Adler smiled disarmingly as she thanked the man in front of her. The flush on his face started on his cheeks, and then ran outwards disappearing at his precision cut beard.

Adler's hair was swept up into an elegant style. Her clothing choice was monochromatic and classical elegant. Mary Myers stood beside her in a similar dressed style. It was not her personal preference, she preferred trousers, a suit jacket, with a firearm, but it was necessary.

Myers' hair was normally put up in a ponytail, but today it was down to hide the hidden ear microphone that was in her right ear. She followed slightly behind Adler, as she played the role of the dedicated assistant.

The bank executive spoke with a thick accent. "It was a pleasure Mrs. Smith," the man did not hide the slight flirtation in his voice. "Here is my business card so that you can contact me," he added hastily, "if you should ever need my assistance in business matters."

"Thank you Alexander." Adler said soothingly before she discreetly pried her fingers out of the man's grasp.

The two women turned and walked toward the exit. Myers discreetly scanned the open space for threats and potential dangers. Myers' hand appeared to move a curl of hair out the way.

"We're on our way out." Myers whispered into the microphone.

"Yes Agent Myers," the disembodied voice answered.

The building was completely modern. They felt the warmth of the natural sunlight on their faces, as they walked through the massive open, vaulted area. The sea of tinted, floor to ceiling glass filtered the light.

The click of their dress shoes seemed loud and slightly obscene in the relatively quiet space.

Within minutes, they exited the building. Myers opened the door for Adler. Adler slid into the back seat of the jade colored Jaguar motorcar that waited outside the building. She felt the pull of the motor vehicle, as it turned onto the busy road. Two other motorcars discreetly followed at an appropriate distance.

Adler exhaled relieved. Now that she was in the safety of the motor vehicle, She melted into the soft leather, as she closed her eyes for a few seconds. Sherlock's latest memories had provided the location of several safety deposit boxes in three countries. He also provided the identification needed to withdraw the contents.

Her eyelids rose. She blinked away the fatigue. Her eyes moved down, as she clicked her purse open. She held the tiny USB drive between her fingers. She had known Sherlock to take precautions, but this was on an entirely different level. She returned the USB drive to her purse. She was certain that his agents had already informed Mycroft of their progress; however, She picked up her mobile to contact him directly. Before she could ring the number that had now been memorized, her mobile sounded. She looked at the caller ID with surprise.

"Yes," Adler said simply.

"_I need to speak with you," The voice on the mobile spoke in Russian. There was a slight hesitation as if the man was moving, "it is urgent."_

She responded in Russian. "Where," Adler sat up straight, suddenly alert and determined.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**One Hour Earlier**_

John was on the couch. They were both watching crap television. More accurately, John was watching crap telly, and Sherlock had been conducting some simple experiment. They had both decided to get back to some sense of normality. Moriarty was unpredictable. It could have been a minute, a month, or a year until they heard from the man again. He had always been that way. Even though, with his growing obsession with Sherlock Holmes, most doubted that it would be very long. Still, the ring was unexpected.

Both men suddenly stilled. Sherlock's mobile danced on the wood as it vibrated gently, stopped, and then vibrated again, and again.

"It could be Lestrade," John all most whispered.

Sherlock said nothing. He slowly stood up from his stool. He did not notice that a dubiously colored liquid splashed from a beaker onto the wood, when the detective's thighs bounced the table. He walked toward the phone, picked it up, and stared.

There were three missed messages. John, or more likely, Mrs. Hudson must have silenced the ringer earlier, so that his sleep would not be interrupted. More than a bit not good, he thought.

One look at Sherlock's face, and John speed walked toward his mobile.

"No," Sherlock said softly.

John was about to ignore him, and keep dialing, but could he. Was not he the one, who ask for trust? He knew Sherlock would consider the act a betrayal. It might even encourage him to go back to his old behaviors of simply disappearing. At least Sherlock was not hiding the fact of who the caller was from him this time.

If John wrote a book about his life, the title of that moment would have been, _The hardest thing that I've ever done._

John put his mobile in his pocket. The words were not unexpected.

"I'm leaving John. Moriarty is requesting my presence." Sherlock looked at John concerned.

"There has to be another way." John said softly.

Sherlock grabbed a few things. He punched in a code on his mobile phone, and then he hit the send button.

"Keep your phone close to you John." He walked toward his bedroom. John ran in front of him and physically blocked his way. He did not say a word, but he looked intently into the eyes of his friend.

Sherlock looked back intently. John's face held a silent plea.

Sherlock attempted a smile. "Do you plan to thump me? I get worried when you're so quiet. That's when you tend to throw a punch. Normally, it is not directed at me. Should I be worried?" Sherlock tried to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. At least that was his intention. He was not good it jokes, yet still made the attempt for John's benefit.

"Can I talk you out of this?" He asked simply

"No." Sherlock replied simply.

John thought quickly. "I could follow."

Sherlock smiled sadly, "He'd know."

"Mycroft's men?" John tried.

"Thomas is not here, the rest of them," he scoffed, "he would know."

"Trackers?" John was growing desperate.

"Activated, but he can find ways around it." Sherlock's eyes never left John's.

"I can't just stay here; I have to at least look for you." John confessed.

"I'd be disappointed if you did not." Sherlock smiled again. "Give me fifteen minutes first before you start to look, twenty minutes before you tell Mycroft, and make sure that Molly is secured first. He seems to have a fascination with her lately. "

A thought abruptly occur to John. "That café that he showed you an email picture of yesterday, it was Molly… Molly was sitting in that café that he threatened to blow up; wasn't she?"

Sherlock smiled at John's growing deductive skills. "Yes. Unfortunately he's aware of how…," he hesitated.

"… Fond you are of her." John finished helpfully.

"Yes," Sherlock confessed begrudgingly.

John nodded, looked down, and then up again. "Thank you for telling me."

Sherlock said nothing but continued to look. After a moment, he walked away.

"Do you want a light supper later?" John asked.

Sherlock looked back, "Yes John, soup would be nice. Tell Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock smiled at John, one corner of his lips turned up more than the other did. John smiled back until he heard the window open. The smile left instantly, as a frown replaced it. He shut his eyes. Cool air flooded the room. Instead of closing the window, he stood there with his eyes closed, still counting.

Fourteen minutes, and thirty seconds left, he thought.

"Fourteen minutes," he repeatedly whispered to himself.

_To be continued._


	164. Chapter 164

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 164

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

"… Be cautious. Once a pawn moves, you are committed to that position. If your opponent then tries to attack your center, you can only defend it with your minor pieces…"

_Vieni Giocare_ means _Come Play_. Italian.

_Control the Center of Your Board… Part I_

* * *

"_**The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."**_

Robert Frost

* * *

_Continued._

"No," John hissed angrily. Suddenly John's eyes flew open. He ran and got his gun. He tucked it into the back of his trouser. His door keys jingled, and clinked together, when his free hand grabbed them. Still running, he grabbed his dark beige- colored jacket; and then he scrambled through the window. He stood outside the window on the fire escape. He was suddenly motionless. He heard his breath coming too quickly.

His eyes darted around. He looked up.

_No. _

Down?

_No. _

Left?

_No._

Right?

_**Right!**_

John noticed a blur of dark curls, and an upturned collar of a black coat, turn right at the end of the alley. Within a second, it disappeared. He cursed. He had forgotten how fast the man was.

John took a breath, and then moved. A calm came over John. He did not see London's alleys, streets, or lamppost any longer. He saw the battlefield. It was not a welcome feeling, but it least it was familiar. The familiarity of it all in the sense was its own comfort. Within a minute, he was outside the alley.

John easily blended into the sea of humanity as they passed through the streets of London. The foot traffic was heavy. That was good for surveillance; it was harder to be noticed. Nevertheless, he had to be careful; a target could be lost easier. Now, Sherlock was the target. Luckily, his friend was tall. Within a few tense moments, he had gotten close enough to feel comfortable. John closely watched for the dark tufts of curls that moved up and down. He slowed his steps and forced his body into a slower pace, and a more casual stride.

He noticed as Sherlock glanced down at his mobile. He must have been receiving directions. For a brief moment, he saw his eyes glanced back. He thought he saw gray-blue eyes locked with his, but then he glanced away. Sherlock shifted as if he would enter the alley, but at the last minute, change directions staying on the main walkway.

If Sherlock knew that he was following, he did not give anything away. John wondered why he was standing on the main road. Normally Sherlock would have weaved his way in and out of alleys, sometimes through buildings, or over buildings. It suddenly occurred to John. Sherlock was aware that he was being followed. He was trying to make it easy for John, without being too apparent. Whether Sherlock agreed or disagreed with John's decision to follow, he was demonstrating his respect of that decision.

The foot traffic was unusually heavy. John was falling behind, and was about to slowly advance. He quickened his pace. He flicked his wrist upward, as he glanced at his watch. It was almost the time that Sherlock indicated that he could call Mycroft. John picked up his mobile without taking his eyes off his friend.

John positioned his finger above the mobile phone number keys. He was to ring a number that had become rather familiar to him. At least, that had been his intentions. Unexpectedly, John's breath was forcibly pushed from his body by the sudden impact. John desperately grabbed at the air, as his body spun. He watched helplessly as the world twisted.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Her eyes shifted nervously behind her. She walked quickly. One hand held her mobile, while the other hand attempted to hold on to her lab jacket, coat, and purse. Her long brown hair bounced in time to her rapid steps. Her eyes glanced behind her again, as she moved quickly toward the lift.

Sherlock had contacted her minutes before. He sounded breathy as if he was moving. He told her to leave. He reminded her of their plan for such emergencies. The mobile call had been interrupted before they could finish talking.

In case of any emergency, or if she felt threatened in any way, she was to contact Sherlock's brother Mister Holmes. But, her phone was useless. From what she heard from several of her coworkers, everyone's phone was useless.

Molly's eyes darted nervously down the hall, behind her, and then at her phone screen again. Her hand impatiently pushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. Her mobile was still flashing the same two words, over and over again. She had tried to call Sherlock back, and she had tried to call his brother, but the phones were useless.

She huffed with frustration, as she walked hurriedly through a particularly dim and narrow hallway. She rounded a corner.

She thought that she heard footsteps behind her. She frowned. This particular portion of Barts, was usually deserted. Not too many people came down to the morgue for fun. She quickened her pace, as she held onto her coat more securely. Despite the fact that she saw no one, she thought of taking the stairs instead of the lift. She glanced back at her ghosts.

Molly walked for several long minutes. She heard the footsteps again. She was sure of it. Wasn't she? She looked back again. This time her phantoms had taken form.

She inhaled audibly, as she rounded the corner. She could no longer see them. She broke into a run. She pushed the doors to the staircase open so quickly, the door bounced on the wall. She ignored the loud sound. She also ignored the burning in her legs as she scampered up the stairs. She was careful not to fall.

Half way up, the doors to the top open. Two men and a woman were on the top. She turned around to run back down, when that door opened as well. Two men were at the bottom, two rather large looking men.

She dropped everything and pulled out her pepper spray.

"I'll use this," she warned. She ignored the slight shaking of her hands. She also ignored the slight shaking of her entire body.

"Miss Hooper we need for you to come with us."

"I don't think so," she said with the most defiant voice that she could manage. She was proud of the fact that she did not stutter. She would tell Sherlock, if she survived that is.

"Miss Hooper, we were sent by Mister Sherlock Holmes." The man in front of her looked more amused than angry.

"I didn't have a chance to send for you, the mobile phones stopped working," she said with suspicion. Her pepper spray was still aimed at the man closest to her.

"Mr. Holmes said you might be," the man paused as he raised an eyebrow, "resistant. He said to tell you something that would assure you that I am, who I say I am."

"What is it?" She asked. She was still on guard.

The man in the suit said one word. Molly relaxed as she leaned against the cool tiled wall. Within minutes, they were moving toward a dark sedan. Molly slid into the back seat as two agents watched for danger. The car left quickly as it was followed by another car. They were heading for one of Mycroft's secure locations.

Molly's hand pressed on the darkened glass windows. As they drove away, a thought came to her mind. She hoped that Sherlock was safe.

* * *

He winced then opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, disoriented. Suddenly, his thoughts became clear.

"Sherlock," John said breathlessly, as he struggled to get up. Several pairs of strange hands helped him.

"You all right mate?" A gray-haired man asked. Several people stood around with concern looks. Within seconds most started to leave, when they assured themselves that the man was okay. However, two stayed quietly by, along with the gray-haired man.

John did not answer. He looked into the crowd for any indication of his friend. He saw glimpses of two dark curly heads, with black coats. They were both walking in an opposite direction. Decoys, he realized. He ignored the dull throb to left side of his forehead, shoulder, and thigh.

"Those two lads knocked ya down, they didn't even stop to ask if you were okay. What's the world comin ta." The man tutted.

John watched helplessly. Within seconds, both dark curly tufts of hair, blended, and then disappeared completely into the sea of humanity.

"This was anticipated, planned," John whispered.

The gray-haired man looked at John curiously. "Are you sure, you're alright young man?"

John said nothing, but looked hopefully at his mobile, which had just begun to ring. He smiled. Maybe, it was Sherlock. His smile faded quickly as mobile, after mobile rang, vibrated, or sang tunes of songs in unison. The symphony of competing sounds blended together uneasily. It was surreal.

The unusualness of it all caused most everyone to slow down, change pace, or stop completely. Various people within the crowd, looked first at their mobile phones, and then at one another. The volume of noise changed. Many people started to talk at one time, while others were stunned into silence. The electronic billboard for restaurants, and professional buildings, all blinked out, became dark, and then started to transmit two words, repeatedly. Everyone looked at the electronic billboards now with question.

Something knotted in John's stomach. He winced slightly, as he turned toward where a group of bystanders was pointing. He studied the electronic billboard. Blonde colored eyebrows knit together in annoyance, anger, and if he was honest, fear. His face transformed into a grim expression. He would wait to call Mycroft. His mobile would not work now. None of their mobiles would work now anyway.

* * *

A few yards away, a little girl stood close to her mother. She held her mother's hand as she looked around at the odd behavior of the adults. She called her mother's name. She received no reply. She tried again. Her mummy did not answer her. Annoyed, the little girl pulled harder. Her mummy looked down at her, but her mummy had a funny look on her face. All of the little girl's annoyance left when she saw the look in her mummy's face. Still, she had to ask. She was a curious child.

"Mummy what does that say?" Her eyes glanced between her mummy, and the electronic billboard.

"_Vieni Giocare," her mother said simply._

The little girl rolled her eyes exasperated, "But what does it mean, mummy?" the annoyance was starting to slip into her voice again.

"Come play," her mother whispered.

Her two missing front teeth were evident as she smiled broadly. The little girl was suddenly very happy. She loved to play.


	165. Chapter 165

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 165

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

"… Be cautious. Once a pawn moves, you are committed to that position. If your opponent then tries to attack your center, you can only defend it with your minor pieces…"

_Vieni Giocare_ means _Come Play_. Italian.

_Control the Center of Your Board… Part I_

* * *

"_**The wicked are wicked, no doubt, and they go astray and they fall, and they come by their **_

_**deserts: but who can tell the mischief which the very virtuous do?"**_ ~ William Makepeace Thackeray, The Newcomes

* * *

_**Undisclosed Location**_

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Within forty minutes, he was standing in front of Moriarty, again. Moriarty's men had been quick and efficient in collecting the Consultant Detective. This time, there was no table set with fine linen cloths, or expensive crystal wine glasses. There was no steak or wine. The atmosphere was tense and there was the hint of danger that could not be mistaken.

Ah, the ultimatum, Sherlock realized.

Sherlock knew that he had to play the opening of this new game well. Moriarty had been particularly unstable of late. He felt the pull of fatigue, as his treacherous body fought against his brilliant mind.

It was a slight bit chilled, in the moderately sized space. He was grateful that they had not removed his coat, or scarf. Even though, he did think it best to remove his scarf. He did so quickly, with regret. He did not want anything around his neck, in the event that he made Moriarty angry. He considered it a sensible precaution. Chances were, no matter what he did, or did not do, the Consultant Criminal would become angry.

Holmes prepared himself as he heard steps approaching him. He stood still, face blank, he hoped that Moriarty would not notice the slight apprehension that he was trying desperately to hide. Game on. But first, there was one important consideration.

"John?" Sherlock asked without turning around.

Moriarty did not answer. He walked up to Sherlock, and faced him first before giving a reply.

Moriarty's features were expressionless. His voice bored. "He'll be fine. He might need some ice on his shoulder. I heard it was quite a tumble."

"What do you want?" Sherlock said as casually as possible.

"You." Moriarty smiled. "I don't like to be ignored."

"A bit obsessed aren't you. You really should take up a hobby. Oh, to be more clear, one that does not involve killings, bombings, war, or general chaos." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I hear knitting is quite relaxing."

Moriarty chuckled. "Oh yes, very good. Don't pretend you don't want me. Your pet's a little too boring for you? Not to mention those hideous jumpers he insists on wearing."

Sherlock kept his voice even. "This is between you and me. Leave Doctor Watson out of this."

Moriarty looked in his eyes. "He's your weakness."

"He's my strength." He immediately wished that he could take back the words. He should not have drawn attention to his friend. He was not at his top game today. He could not afford to be otherwise with the Consultant Criminal.

Moriarty looked at Sherlock with an unwavering, unnerving stare. Sherlock noticed.

"What do you want?" Sherlock repeated casually.

Moriarty smiled a small, odd sort of smile, "I already told you."

"Specifically." Sherlock was careful to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Moriarty's smiled widened. "Would you like positions?"

Sherlock was silent.

Moriarty's smile left. "Just kidding. Actually, I was not, but let's pretend for a moment I was."

Moriarty's entire persona seemed to transform instantly. He looked annoyed. Quite put upon, in fact.

"You failed the tests my dear, again, and again, and again!" Jim complained slightly too loud.

Sherlock looked intently at the Consultant Criminal's face.

He pulled out his Smartphone and started to text. "The fact that you have shown up here means you failed. So what if Doctor Molly Hooper had been a little, shall we say, roughed up. It's not as if I would have killed her," he gave a manic sort of high-pitched giggle, "of course I do get a bit carried away sometimes, don't I." He waved one hand noncommittally, before it was placed back on his phone as he resumed texting.

"You do love your pets, don't you." The corners of Jim's mouth twisted into an angry snarl.

His anger suddenly intensified. Moriarty seemed especially unstable now. His emotions were like lightning, striking randomly, without a pattern. Sherlock knew it was important, to try to rein in the genius.

"Most people call on the phone, but," Sherlock hesitated, "You're not most people, Jim."

Sherlock's plan worked, Moriarty suddenly smiled again. The anger left as quickly as it came. "You like that, did you."

Sherlock manipulated further. "It was interesting. Electronic billboards, and mobile phones all across town, flashing two words, _Come Play_. I must admit that it was… original, very Moriarty I would say."

Moriarty smiled widened at that compliment. "We both know it wasn't the come play that got your attention. It was the picture of my ex – girlfriend, which got your attention." Moriarty raised an eyebrow. "You certainly seem to come running whenever I dangle Miss Hooper and front of you. I would be jealous, but let's face it, there's nothing going on between the two of you, is there now?"

Moriarty looked him up and down before commenting. "Sorry, I forgot who I was speaking to. Mr. 'I am married to my work,' himself." Moriarty texted quietly for a few minutes, before adding, "Although, it is the quiet ones who tend to surprise one the most."

Moriarty finally finished the text that he had been slowly working on since Sherlock entered the building. He put his Smartphone into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. "Sorry about that, busy, busy, busy," Moriarty sang.

"I see how busy you are, I could come back." Sherlock offered.

Moriarty, slowly put his hands in his designer suit pockets as he walked toward the detective. "I'm never too busy for you," he smiled.

Sherlock observed him silently for a few seconds. "Who were you talking to?" Sherlock asked conversationally.

"Spoilers!" Moriarty said a little too loudly. There was a hint of mania in his voice.

There was a moment of silence. An indefinable expression graced his face now, as he walked closer to Sherlock.

"I'm here to talk about memories Sherlock." His name was said softly, almost like an afterthought. "Old memories, childhood memories," he whispered now, "I know all about them. It was difficult, even for me, but I managed to find the information I, shall we say, needed."

Sherlock's face was perfectly blank. He stood still, perhaps a little too still. He was determined not to give anything away.

"Your family comes from old money. Your father was an important man wasn't he? He had a brilliant wife, two genius level sons. It was a bit much for Father Dearest to handle, wasn't it Sher… Lock." Moriarty smiled, "From what I discovered, he was… Quite the man."

Moriarty shook his head in false sympathy. "You should have just killed the bastard like I did my father." Moriarty smiled and looked at Sherlock knowingly. "Sorry, I forgot. That would be a…. what is the word… oh, yes…, a bad thing, wouldn't it."

Sherlock's jaw tightened. Otherwise, he stayed perfectly still, appeared perfectly calm.

Moriarty noticed the tightening of Sherlock's jaws. He smiled inwardly. Moriarty walked up to Sherlock closely now and whispered. "You really should let all of your beautiful anger out. I know you have some in you. Let's see if we could help it along." He started to walk away again as he said in a normal voice tone, "Sorry, a little off-topic. Now where were we? Oh yes, Daddy Dearest."

Sherlock's façade cracked slightly. He looked grim before forcing his face into a blank expression again. Of course, this did not escape Moriarty's notice.

"Everyone failed you, didn't they now. The teachers fail to see your torment. Those that did were probably satisfied, that the know it all, who embarrass them with his questions that they couldn't answer, was getting his comeuppance. The other students thought you were a freak; they were too busy being jealous, or scared to notice your distress. Of course, some of them tormented you as well. Mother Dearest failed you. She was supposed to be a genius, and yet she never noticed your distress, did she? Worse? Do you think she just ignored it? Then, she had the audacity to become ill when you needed her the most. People just aren't as considerate these days as they used to be, are they mate?"

Sherlock turned his eyes toward Moriarty now. There was something indefinable in them. "I would prefer, that you do not mention my mother." Sherlock's voice had an odd sort of timber and pitch to it.

Moriarty nodded simply, and then continued. "Well, there is always big brother to discuss isn't there then."

Sherlock stood still, but said nothing.

"Cold, distant, unemotional, a bit repressed, does it run in the family? Normally I admire these traits, but I was once told that big brothers are protectors." He walked behind Sherlock again who remained perfectly still, and refused to flinch. "I have no personal knowledge of the concept, mind, but I think it's the normal, expected thing."

Moriarty rolled his eyes as he conceded, "I suppose that brother of yours, has protected you somewhat, but then, he left."

Sherlock felt Moriarty's breath upon his ear as he whispered. "How soon after big brother left did Father Dearest come to you? How often did Father come to you, every week, every other day, every night? Brother Dearest wasn't around to protect you anymore when he went away to Uni." Moriarty circled around him as a predator.

"He was a young child himself." Sherlock heard himself say, before he could stop himself.

"That's better than the truth." Moriarty countered. "That he abandoned you. You were an embarrassment to him. He could not run away from you fast enough. I think he might have even gotten off on your pain. Tell me, does he still try to control you?"

"Is there a point to this Jim, I'm terribly busy, as you can understand." Sherlock tried to keep his voice uninterested; however, he knew that Moriarty would notice his growing annoyance.

Moriarty's smile widened. He ignored Sherlock's comment as he moved closer.

"Being Daddy Dearest's punching bag, still affects you to this day, doesn't it?" Moriarty stood next to Sherlock. The back of Jim's dark hair was next to Sherlock's nose, as he whispered toward Sherlock's hair, "Is that why you don't like anyone to touch you, even today? You don't mind being hit but you don't like to be touched."

Sherlock clenched his jaws. It was a barely perceptible movement. "Let the beast out," Jim whispered.

Moriarty circled around. Sherlock had a deadly calm, and stillness. "You feel it don't you. The calmness before giving into the murderous rage, the things that ordinary people tries to keep in check, but we are not ordinary are we."

"I see it in your eyes. You might be able to fool that pet of yours, but you can't fool me, my dear. The monster's raging, how much longer can you control it?" Moriarty continued to whisper. "You need to know who you are Sherlock. Why do you serve when you were made to rule? You and I were made to rule. If we were born in different times, we would be rulers, emperors, kings, those who destroy. Nations would bow before us, with the sea of mindless masses serving us. They're ordinary, predictable, boring, Sherlock, they were created to serve us. We are extraordinary, we were meant to be obeyed, to rule with an iron fist. The things we would have done, would have left the historians blushing, and the history books calling us monsters, because that's what we are. It would have been us, not Alexander the Great, who destroyed the city of Thebes. Why should he have all the fun," he winked, "We would have been the ones to burn Rome for our amusement just to see the ashes." Moriarty sang, "And, what a beautiful burn it would have been."

Moriarty stopped just behind Sherlock's back again. "Stop fighting it." Sherlock could feel his breath as he spoke.

"Why do you tolerate it? Doesn't it bother you that you always have to dummy it down for everyone? That you understand things in a moment, a blink of an eye that other people are trying to play catch up to a week later."

Moriarty pointed randomly toward the door, as he yelled in a sudden fit of anger. "Those people, those nothings are not worthy of your attention. What have they done for you? Failed you when you were in pain. Tormented you because they could torment the forgotten child. All because they were too small minded, to understand your rare genius."

Moriarty huffed. He was suddenly calm. "Doesn't it irritate you how painfully slow they are to understand even the most basic concepts?" He looked into Sherlock's eyes now as he moved to his front again. "Don't lie to me, it does irritate you."

"You don't know me, Moriarty." Sherlock said returning glare – for – glare.

Moriarty let out a chuckle. "Oh… but I do."

"How many times have you sacrificed yourself for the ordinary, for them, for that… pet of yours?" Moriarty asked with revulsion evident in his voice.

"He would and has done the same for me." Sherlock spoke for the first time in minutes.

Moriarty spat the words out as if they were poison. "A pet can sacrifice for the master; it is an abomination when the master sacrifices for the pet!"

"He's not my pet. But then you wouldn't understand that would you. Have many friends?" Sherlock knew it was not wise to provoke the lunatic, but he was tired and more than a bit angry. He made a silent effort at that point, to bring himself under control.

"I don't have friends; I have pets," he smirked, "Even though, I must concede that you treat your pet better than I treat mine." Moriarty sneered, "You used to not have any FRIENDS. We were the same until he corrupted you."

Moriarty's voice held contempt. "If you didn't have such a man crush on Watson, you would see that I am right." He smiled, "Of course I'm always right."

Sherlock blinked and looked at him.

A light came to Sherlock's eyes. "So… that's what this is about… Brother." He whispered quietly to himself. "Jealous?" A fire entered Sherlock's eyes, "You want a family Josiah." Sherlock smiled with false apology. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's not Josiah Lambert anymore is it? It's Jim Moriarty now. I must admit Jim Moriarty does sound more dramatic, more you." Sherlock glanced at him before glancing away again.

Everything melted away but the puzzle. "Lonely now that you've killed off your own twin brother." Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he clasped his hands behind his back. "I know all about you as well."

"Your brother did not realize that you put a real bullet in the gun did he." Sherlock was now the one to circle.

Moriarty could not hide the surprise in his voice.

"Huh," Jim smiled strangely, as he swallowed audibly. "Very good Sherlock. Even for you and you are brilliant. Not as much as me, of course. You also need a better tailor for that gorgeous body of yours. A bit socially, inept but…"

"My suits are tailored to perfection," Sherlock quipped confidently, as he circled him.

"Robert Brook was real. It was your brother's adopted name. Like you once told me. My weakness is to always want everything to be brilliant. That was just smart and good planning, maybe a bit of luck." He stopped walking and stood to the side of Moriarty. Jim turned his head and looked at Sherlock.

"I couldn't understand why you would commit suicide. It always bothered me and yet there you were. There were very real brains, with a very real hole, in a very real head, with very real blood on the ground. Not even you could fake death so convincingly."

Sherlock's eyes seemed to look into Moriarty, through him. "It was three orphan children, not one. There were two identical boys and one girl, triplets; the orphan children of French immigrants. They were adopted into three different sets of families. You and your brother were adopted into two different Irish families. When you discovered this fact, you searched for them. Not even you could locate your sister. She was adopted into a powerful family that left very little paper trail, but the brother…"

Sherlock paused for a moment, before continuing. "You and your sister were both geniuses, but your brother… not so much. Did you come across him quite accidentally? Almost made you wish that you didn't?" Sherlock smirked. "I guess you're not really the telly type. I sympathize."

"Let's list his accomplishments, shall we. He worked in the kitchen of a Café. Fired within a week. A failure of an actor. Some unknown obscure man. A children's show actor, soap opera failure, worst of all, he was ordinary. Despite being your twin, average intelligence. I don't mean to be unkind, but he was a bit of a twit. You saw him, and you stared into your own eyes and you saw what you could very easily have been; ordinary, pathetically plain, average," Sherlock whispered, "worse, forgettable."

"Good." Jim Moriarty could not hide the slight tremor in his hands, or the fact that he was finding it difficult to swallow. "Very good, Sherlock."

Sherlock continued without acknowledgement. "You could not tolerate his existence. You wanted to burn my heart out. You wanted him erased. You are, if nothing else, efficient. You saw a way to do both simultaneously. You saw a way to get rid of the problem. The final problem. You said to me, sitting on my chair after the trial, that you wanted to solve, 'the problem, our problem, the final problem'. That sentence always bothered me."

"The problem, referred to your average minded twin."

"Our problem, referred to the battle between you and me, the game."

"The final problem, referred to you burning my heart out and disgracing me, winning the game."

"That day in my flat, you told me everything, all you've planned to do. You were correct. I did not hear you then, but I hear you now."

Moriarty stared wordlessly at Sherlock for a moment, amazed that he was able to figure everything out. His discomfort left instantly, a rare show of admiration shown his eyes. He said suddenly.

"You do know that's a turn on when you do that." Moriarty tried to joke.

Sherlock ignored him; he could see the tightness in Jim's eyes. He resisted the urge to smile.

"You hired him anonymously. You gave him more money than he had seen in his life. The ultimate acting role. He was to disgrace me, threaten to kill my friends if I don't jump. If all else fail, if anything did not go according to script, he was to pretend to kill himself. We both know that with my mind against your brother's, something was bound to go wrong. To go off script."

Sherlock put his hands under his chin. "He was to pretend to kill himself with a blank bullet. How could he know that the man who anonymously hired him would want him dead? The remains were examined down to the DNA level. The only one who could have matched so perfectly was your brother. Your dead twin brother."

"You fooled everyone completely, even my brother. Trust me when I say that is a difficult task." Sherlock complemented Moriarty. "Well, maybe not everyone."

Sherlock smirked. "How was Richard Brook to know that his employer was his long lost, sick, unbalanced, deranged, pathetic excuse for a brother, who put too much product in his hair?"

"Sticks and stones Sherlock." Moriarty for the first time in minutes smiled.

"Speaking of sticks," Moriarty said with raised eyebrows, "what happened to you two years ago Sherlock? Had a bit of a rough time did yah?"

"Did they stick it to you?" Moriarty's smile broadened.

Sherlock stiffened but said nothing.

"Is the subject still a little touchy? Alright… Alright," he said holding his hands up in mock surrender. "My bad."

Moriarty looked at Holmes curiously before saying, "That was me you know, the entire time. Well, except for the rooftop of course, I couldn't very well kill myself, now could I? That's my regret, not being able to look into your eyes the moment that you knew that you were screwed."

"Some regrets can be fixed." Jim said cryptically. "I think you're cute, but if you don't want to come with me there's always someone else."

Sherlock's body stiffened before he could stop it. "What do you mean?" Sherlock asked as his blood ran cold.

"Your pet, you don't mind sharing do you? It's good manners to share. I read that in a book once," Moriarty gestured with one hand noncommittally, "Of course, I burned the book." Moriarty smiled. "He soooo adorable. I could disappear with him. Chain him to my bed. Make sure his leg chain is long enough so that he could clean up, prepare light meals and tea, maybe do some hoovering. How long do you think it would take me to housebreak your pet, a month, several? He is surprisingly stubborn. And a lot tougher than I originally thought. Breaking him might take a while. Patience is not my strong point but, I'll work on it."

Sherlock looked at Moriarty with deadly eyes. "This is between you and me. Do. Not. Touch. Him."

"Or, what? You've shown that you're not exactly capable of murder. What will you do, stare me to death?" Moriarty raised an eyebrow.

Don't" Sherlock said as he walked into Jim's personal space.

Jim's eyes held a dare. "Do you play with your pets before you break them? I do."

"I won't warn you again." Sherlock whispered. His voice broke with rage.

Jim smiled now. "I owe him for property damage, don't worry, eventually he'll get used to it, he might even come to enjoy…"

Time blurred. Sherlock was not sure when he had wrapped his hands around Moriarty's neck. He was squeezing when he noticed that choking sounds were coming out of Moriarty who was now collapsed on the ground with his body below him.

A part of him was repelled and alarmed as he noticed the slight blue tinge to the man's lips.

"_Stop Sherlock,"_ a voice that sounded strangely like John's, whispered in his mind.

Another part of Holmes was fascinated. Hypoxia. Eventually it will lead to respiratory, then cardiac arrest. Unconsciousness within six minutes. Will not be able to resuscitate, biological death after ten.

"_**Stop!"**_ He heard the voice say again more urgently. It was John's voice in his mind. In the end, Sherlock would listen to John. He, with great difficulty, let Moriarty go.

Sherlock let go and rolled on the floor next to Moriarty. He closed his eyes and lay there, as if he could shut out both the world and the lunatic. Eventually he opened his eyes. He slowly, and shakily, got up. Must be the adrenaline, he thought.

Sherlock stood, looking at a stain on the wall. He seemed frozen in place. He was breathing heavily, and still shaking slightly.

Moriarty followed Sherlock's movements, he slowly stood up partially. He was doubled over as he gasped, and choked, and coughed for air. Sherlock stood beside him doing nothing as he stared at the door in the wall, at the door that he really should be retreating through.

Moriarty coughed and inhaled trying to get air in. He started to snicker and choke. "I win Sherlock, the game is mine."

"You did not care if I killed you." Sherlock said quietly to himself, breathing heavily, as he tried to regain control.

"Of course (Cough) I care (Wheeze) don't be an idiot. But the game is worth dying for. For someone who's supposed to be a genius, you can be SO thick! (Cough) You kill me, you become me. You get to take over my kingdom. There is a little rebuilding to do…," He straightened up finally. "But after murder, what's a little rebuilding. You become me, I win."

Sherlock continued to look past Moriarty to the wall. His body stiffened, but his head was up. He wouldn't let Moriarty know how vulnerable he felt.

"If you go with me, MUCH more fun, can you imagine the world with two of us in it, God help it. I win – win –win!" His voice was still raspy.

"If you walk away, I burn your heart out," Moriarty walked right up. His lips almost touching his ear and whispered into it, "I win."

"Do you notice a pattern here? I plan to win." He finished whispering and looked Sherlock in the eyes.

"You can't think, plan, plead, or fight your way out of what's coming." Moriarty let one finger caress the side of Sherlock's cheek as he whispered. "Sounds familiar?"

Sherlock did not move his body, but he suddenly turned his eyes to look Moriarty in the face with loathing, but said nothing.

Moriarty withdrew his hand. He looked uncertain for only a few seconds, but then it lifted. He suddenly chuckled then coughed briefly. "Sorry about that." He apologized insincerely, "Being chocked always does that to me."

Jim spoke with a raspy voice. "Your choice, my dear, your move. It's close to check mate." His voice sounded like a snake.

"Well," moving his eyes only, Sherlock looked Jim Moriarty up and down with contempt before finally saying, "Unless you plan to shoot, torture, and, or kidnap me again; this has become boring. I'll find my own way back to the flat."

He turned to leave.

"The game isn't over." Sherlock walked past him purposely bumping Moriarty with his shoulder, causing him to stumble back a few steps. He did not bother to look back. If Moriarty wanted to keep him there. He would.

"Yes it is Sherlock; you just haven't caught up yet." Jim spoke loudly to the retreating man. This earned him another round of coughing.

That was the last sound that Sherlock heard from the lunatic as he retreated, were the sounds of him laughing broken only by fits of coughing.

* * *

"_**Weather forecast for tonight: dark."**_

_**~ George Carlin**_

* * *

John walked in the door and hung up his coat. John sighed with relief as he put one hand on his hip. The other hand gripped his mobile tightened. "He's here," he said simply before disconnecting. Sherlock did not bother to ask, he knew he was talking to Mycroft.

"Sherlock, where have you been? I was worried." John's voice was raw.

Sherlock ignored the question. "I told you he would know." He continued to stare out the window. "Are you hurt, John?"

"I'm fine," John said quickly.

Sherlock turned away from the window for the first time. His eyes scan John's body, yet he avoided the eyes.

John sighed, the weight of his hypocrisy was too heavy to bear, "Bruised shoulder, and thigh, side of head. Bit of a headache."

Sherlock said nothing, but continued to scan. Satisfied, he turned back to the window. He stretched out both hands from his body and looked at his one bent arm. He examined the outstretched hand.

John moved closer. He sensed something in Sherlock that he could not readily identify. A negative energy, mixed with fear perhaps. It seemed foreign and out of place on the younger man. He walked up next to Sherlock and simply stood. John glanced at him briefly before glancing out the window.

Sherlock's voice was small. "How far can hate go? I'm not a moron. I know that the one thing that I am weak with is feelings, emotions, sentiments…" He continued to look at his hand. "… understanding them even… even in myself." Sherlock frowned openly, "I almost killed tonight. It would have been so easy to cross that line John." Shame colored his voice, "I almost did."

At the word, 'almost', John exhaled relieved. John instantly knew that the subject of the discussion was Moriarty. John sighed and walked up to Sherlock.

"Almost does not count. You did not. You stopped yourself. That's why you're not him. You are both geniuses. That I admit. You both had similar childhoods but that is where the similarities end. You're not him. You could have kept going but you stopped. You stopped. He never will or even can. That's what separates you from him. That's what makes you better. That's why you'll win, Sherlock."

Sherlock's nose started to bleed again. John frowned as he noticed for the first time a bloodied tea towel on the table.

"Sherlock you're bleeding," John said concerned. He thought that the nosebleeds were a thing of the past.

"Yes." Sherlock stared out the window.

"Sherlock, can't you tell me what has happened, what went wrong."

"I'm bleeding John." Sherlock looked outside lost in a memory.

John walked to the kitchen then came back. He put a hand on Sherlock's arm to gain his attention. After a moment, he gave him a clean small tea towel. He watched as Sherlock put the towel to his nose. After a few minutes, the bleeding stopped. He put the towel next to its bloodied twin.

"Don't worry if you bleed mate. I'll be here to help it stop." John did not hesitate this time as he put his hand on the taller man's shoulder.

Sherlock swallowed as he said with sincerity, "Yes John." More quietly, it was barely a whisper. "You always are." They stood in silence for a few moments.

"John," after a moment, "I think it's going to storm tomorrow."

John looked at the clear, but darkened skies. He did not think that Sherlock was referring to the weather.

"What's going to happened, Sherlock? What are you not saying?"

Sherlock did not answer. John did not ask again. Instead, he kept watch, standing close beside his best mate. John stood guard, as they both watched the man-made lights that dotted the darkened night. The light seemed to retreat, and the darkness advance.

* * *

A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. Lots of Love.

**Optional Fun Question**: This one is simply a yes or no question. Here we go. Was Benedict Cumberbatch ever offered the role of the Doctor, in Steven Moffat's, Doctor Who? If you know what happened, feel free to enlighten us.

By the way, as I was reading, I heard a fan describe Benedict's eyes as, "… pools of dreams." I was not sure if I should laugh, scoff, or sigh in the agreement. I chose the last.


	166. Chapter 166

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 166

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Thank you for your recent post: Bookworm Gal ( More of the one we love, and the one that we love to hate.), foxeeflame (Sorry about your nails. Grow them while you can.), danishprince (A storm coming, you say, do you see the clouds?), Benfan (Thank you for the multiple post. I hope that you are well. How is your heartbeat?), goanago (Thank you for the multiple post. Creepy was my aim. I am glad that you enjoyed.), Rouge Singer (I agree, having Benedict as Holmes was lucky for us.), Prothoe (Thank you for the multiple posts. No punch in the nose for Sherlock. I am glad you enjoyed the last chapter.) Cumberbatch Of Derren Brownies (Thanks for the information. David was a wonderful Dr. Who.), foxeeflame Natalia (Thank you so much. I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. ), Puky2012 (Thank you for the multiple posts. I agree that it is , "difficult for Sherlock to explain his actions from a rational point of view," it is good that John is there.) kassandwich, (I've researched the subject, and agree. Lucky for us Sherlock fans.), bruderlein (I am glad that the background story makes sense.), gemstone1234 (I am also a fan of John and Sherlock's devotion. I hope the Sherlock marathon went well.) MIU, (I'm glad the marathon was worth it. Welcome), coolness10123 (Thank you for the multiple post. It warms my heart to know that you are enjoying the story.), socalrose (Thank you for the multiple posts. I hope your computer has recovered from being yelled at. :) ), e la mucca salto sulla luna (I'm glad that you are enjoying story. I am happy to know that the last chapter was appreciated. ) Thank you to all guests.

Thank you ; foxeeflame, MIU, foxeeflame, Warelock, lizzie1250, Natalia Trevor, RawrxSushi, kamelion, Kelllie, nourss, Me And The Time Vortex, deaka, goanago, Whosawesome, Rouge Singer, Nourss, goanago, Lillkin, It's-Somebody, lizzie1250, Dawnfire11, RiverSong11, georgiporgiepuddingandpie, . , e la mucca salto sulla luna, kassandwich, T're Urvawi, lizzie1250, Kelllie, Sdale05, jack63kids, kassandwich ,macgyvershe, cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.

*****. *** T rated ****. ****

More on the weekend. My computer had a small problem. I carried it to an expert who gave it a large problem. I'm typing from a borrowed computer, so this is it until the weekend.

Last week's fun question was_: _Was Benedict Cumberbatch ever offered the role of Dr. Who? As some of you, before I researched the subject, I believe that Benedict was offered the role. The facts are, however, that he was not. He did have a conversation with David Tennant. But that is as far as that went. Lucky for us because I believe him to be a brilliant Sherlock. I base this on an old interview I saw online where he claimed the above to be the facts. Thanks for your participation.

Edited. The above is a collection of everyone's thoughts as well as my own research. We would like to Rouge Singer, Cumberbatch Of Derren Brownies, Benfan, kassandwich, bruderlein, gemstone1234, e la mucca salto sulla luna, and socalrose thank you for your commentaries.

_Note: Chapter 125 of Deleted Memories will be referred to on the next post. _

"… Be cautious. Once a pawn moves, you are committed to that position. If your opponent then tries to attack your center, you can only defend it with your minor pieces…"

_Control the Center of Your Board… Part II_

* * *

"**_...Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too_**." ~ Stephen King

* * *

**_Three Days Ago_**

**_Unknown Location_**

It had been a long day and a lot of traveling. But, it was finally concluded. Most of the men, as well as the few women in the conference room were tired, and looking forward to an evening of rest. They were only waiting to be dismissed. Everyone was especially cautious. They not only had Moriarty to fear, they had his second in command, Moran, to fear.

Moran had been especially irritable lately. The few that had the lack of wisdom to laugh at him, had found out, in the most severe ways, that had been a foolish thing to do. No one had dared to laugh anymore, or even look at Sebastian without respect. Only one person had dared to complain openly to Moriarty about Moran's retaliations. Moriarty's eyes had simply darkened, as he informed the man that if he was foolish enough to laugh at Sebastian, he should have been prepared for the consequences. Moriarty had then turned and winked at Sebastian. Sebastian spent the following hour teaching the man the proper respect, with Moriarty looking along, amused, while having lunch. The man had technically been alive when Sebastian Moran was finished.

"What's the matter Seb?" Moriarty did not try to hide the smile on his face, "You look a bit out of sorts today."

Sebastian Moran tried to keep his face even and voice level. He, however, could not stop the slight twitch on the left side of his face.

"I'm fine Sir. Thank you Mister Moriarty." After a few minutes of silence, being thought dismissed, he turned to leave.

"Stay Seb." Moriarty gave a shadow of a nod. Everyone immediately stood up and, quickly and quietly exited. He waited for everyone to leave the room before continuing "Sit." Moriarty said in an almost gentle tone.

Sebastian was more unnerved by the gentleness of Moriarty's voice than he would have been if a gun was pointed at his chest. There was an eerie calmness to the Consulting Criminals expression. It unnerved the normally unflappable ex-soldier.

Sebastian Moran mimicked a tranquil expression. He unbuttoned his jacket with two fingers, and then gracefully sat before crossing his long lean legs. His face held a bored expression. But Moriarty noticed the tightness of his jaw and the extra crinkles around his eyes, which were not there before.

"Don't worry Seb, I'm, not angry with you. I know pets sometimes make messes. I read it in a book once." Moriarty said somewhat distractedly, as he pulled out his Smartphone. He started to text.

Sebastian's mouth tightened, yet he said nothing. The man was many things, but he was not a fool.

Moriarty had just now finished texting. "I have an assignment for you Seb. Something that I'm sure will bring a smile to your face, and the spring into your step." He opened his laptop with a click. His fingers flew across the keyboard quickly, before pushing the enter key. His eyes held a rare look of absolute concentration.

Sebastian looked at Moriarty. He said nothing, yet, he could not hide his interests.

"I need someone distracted. Someone who you're quite fond of, in fact. He is becoming quite a nuisance again. I can't have him spoiling my plans, now can I. I am sure that you have a suggestion or two for me." Moriarty raised his eyebrows. His eyes held a darkness. The implications of his statement could not be missed. Sebastian knew Moriarty better than anyone. As much as Moriarty would allow himself to be known, that was.

Sebastian did not answer he knew that it was a rhetorical question. His eyebrows did rise slightly, however.

"I do have rules and guidelines you need to understand. Before we begin, there is one question I must ask you Sebastian. You're my pet. I've trained you well." He turned his attention fully to Sebastian. "I need you to get something for me. But it will depend on this. You have pets as well," Moriarty raised an eyebrow, "How well do you have _your_ pets trained?"

"Very well Sir." For the first time in over a week, Sebastian Moran smiled.

* * *

_**"He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal."**_

~ Greg _Levoy_

* * *

_**Current Day **_

_**Current Time **_

The past several days had been exceptionally grueling. Sherlock, upon his brother's return to England, had been spending sixteen hour days with his brother, various analysts, agents, and various members of the government. There were also representatives from Scotland Yard. Sherlock had requested Lestrade's involvement. Apparently he was not as dull as the other Scotland Yarders, in Sherlock's words. They had alternated between the flat, and Mycroft's office, depending on how busy Mycroft was.

The dismissed men retreated quietly. The sounds of footsteps floated around Sherlock, ignored. John, and Lestrade, watched Sherlock quietly. Mycroft observed with raised eyebrows, as his brother paced back and forth muttering to himself. His hand ran through his dark curls unnoticed.

Mycroft frowned openly now that the room contained only the three men, and himself. The USB, mini storage drives, which Sherlock had hidden in safety deposit boxes around the world, were all retrieved. It contained vital information that had been used to develop a uniform multi-national plan. Still, there was something vital missing.

His attention was drawn back to Sherlock.

Sherlock's muttering had varied between the incoherent, to the loud and insulting. He was currently in the process of demanding more data. He then proceeded to insult himself, as he commented that he was, "too slow today." He then rallied himself, turning his frustrations outward, as he commented on the incompetence of all of the agents, Yarders, and humanity in general.

John sighed almost in time with Lestrade's loudly exhaled breath. Both men risked a glance at each other, before returning their gaze to their friend.

Mycroft caught the eye of both men. He pursed his lips as his eyebrows knitted together in a deep, contemplative look. John raised his eyebrow resigned. Lestrade looked at both men with the questioning expression, but said nothing.

Sherlock's rants had returned to a low mutter. He now stopped and held his forehead with one hand. His long fingers massaged back and forth across his forehead, while his other hand found his hip and rested there.

"Headache?" John asked needlessly.

A noncommittal grunt was his only reply.

Mycroft gave them most subtle shift of his head toward the door. John sighed again before nodding just as subtly.

"Lestrade and I will be downstairs," John said as he walked up to Sherlock. He squeezed his shoulder gently. Sherlock glanced into John's eyes, before he frowned and looked down. He gave a final squeeze to the shoulder, and then joined Lestrade who had just exited out of the door.

"Sit. You're making me dizzy with your constant motion." Mycroft said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

Sherlock opened his mouth as if he would say something. Mycroft had no doubt that it would have been something defiant and inappropriate. Instead, Sherlock deflated instantly. He allowed his body to collapse onto the chair, with a frustrated hiss. One leg rested on the arm of the chair. His head laid back, with crossed arms.

Mycroft looked curiously, studying his brother. The fact that his brother chose to walk over to the chair across from him, and then flapped his body into the chair, as if he was a five year old, solidified Mycroft's decision.

"You did respectable work today Sherlock. We could not have even begun to guess at Moriarty's plans in time without you."

Sherlock looked slightly confused at Mycroft's complement. He knew what his brother thought of him, but to hear him verbalize it was odd. He did not reply, but looked at his brother instead of his folded arms.

Mycroft continued, "We were forced to start moving. I know you disagreed with the timing Sherlock, so did I, but we did not have a choice. I'm afraid that Moriarty might now have an idea that we are aware of some of his," his brother seemed to be searching for words, "more recent activities." He now looked to Sherlock. "I would request that you no longer visit Mr. Moriarty. He may not be in the best of moods, little brother."

Sherlock said nothing, he simply looked into his eyes intently. Mycroft understood, of course he would; Sherlock was his brother.

Mycroft nodded agreement were Sherlock's unspoken words. "I understand that none of those meetings had been your choice, Sherlock. I'm just…"

There were so many words that Mycroft could have said_, I'm just concerned, I just care, I'm just afraid, I'm frankly terrified,_ all would have been true. But this was Mycroft Holmes, so instead he finished with, "… making you aware of the potential threat."

Mycroft shifted. He uncrossed his legs and then re-crossed them in the opposite direction. Sherlock stiffened. He knew his brother well enough to know that he was preparing for battle.

"From all the information that I have been able to gather, from your capture with the terrorists, to your time away from us with Moriarty, I have come to a conclusion, Sherlock. You have obtained all of your memories, except for the two months before you were kidnapped." Mycroft looked grim, "Those two months happened to be the time that you were researching Moriarty, and had come to conclude that he was still alive. More than a coincidence, I am sure." Mycroft's frown deepened. "Not only did you conclude that he was still alive, but you had further concluded, that he had faked his death, not simply to force you to jump off a building, but also to disappear. He was planning something big, huge, he needed to be off the radar, so to speak."

Sherlock was uncharacteristically quiet. He had come to the same conclusions. He knew there was more that Mycroft had to say. He wondered if he would again agree with his brother. Mycroft continued.

"During the time that you were with him, he purposely erased the two months' worth of memories first, that was what he considered necessary. Your amnesia at the time, and the rest of the false memories, were just what he considered… fun."

Mycroft's smile was dangerous and small. It was beautiful in its simplicity, yet eerie in this deadly intent. Sherlock had no doubt that if Moriarty was in front of his brother, he would be alive just long enough for Mycroft to convey his displeasure. He was again reminded of why he believed that Mycroft, not Moriarty, was the most dangerous man in the world. A strong moral compass, and deep devotion to family and England, were the only things that held Mycroft in check.

Both brothers were silent for a few minutes. Both were lost in their thoughts.

Sherlock's voice broke the silence, "How long will it be before we do the procedure to bring the last two months back. You strongly disagreed with me doing it before, but now you see no choice." Sherlock frowned openly. "I think the secret to deciphering the last codes are in those two months' worth of memories. I believe that is why Moriarty targeted those two months."

Mycroft expected Sherlock's to deduce what he was about to say. It still did not make the saying easier. "Four days. Since those memories seem to have been especially targeted by the procedure that you endured, there has to be more precautions taken." Mycroft looked into Sherlock's eyes again, "Yes it is necessary. I do agree with that now."

"Can we begin any sooner?" Sherlock asked, determined.

"Yes, but I would prefer to wait for four days." Mycroft frowned. "Your memories might come back like the others, we have three days before we have to take such a drastic step."

"Tomorrow." Sherlock said simply.

"It will be unpleasant, Sherlock."

Sherlock did not repeat himself, he simply looked at his brother.

Mycroft was silent for a few moments he frowned and then compromised. "The day after tomorrow."

There was another moment of silence. Sherlock looked at Mycroft. "There's something else."

"Time to see a therapist." Mycroft, said matter of fact, "Doctor Pavlov," Mycroft pulled out his Smartphone and seemed to scroll through his electronic calendar. "Tomorrow in the evening, at nine thirty, PM. She agreed to see you after she sees her last patient. You gotten along better with her than with anyone, I think."

"Are you quite through, " Sherlock said with unveiled annoyance. "I'm fine. I don't have time to be distracted." Sherlock's voice was dismissive. Yet, there was an edge to his voice that was barely undetectable by most anyone. Mycroft noticed, of course.

Sherlock's voice became sugary sweet as he added, "I would have agreed, dear brother, but I'm slightly occupied at the moment . I'm sure you understand."

Mycroft's tone matched his brother's tone. "I would have agreed Sherlock, however, that was before I viewed the video."

Sherlock eyes darted to his brothers. He questioned him with his eyes.

Mycroft's eyes softened in understanding. "It was viewed by me alone. John did not see it, no one else did. I kept my word to you Sherlock. I have not looked at your medical records. What occurred between you and my private physician is your affair. At least, before this last surprise. But now, I found it necessary. I know that you have spoken to John. However," he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I have concluded that you have not been forthcoming in the extent of your… experiences."

Sherlock hissed between gritted teeth. "You act as if you are ordering me to do this Mycroft. I am not one of your agents that you can order around. Nor one if your dignitaries that you can manipulate."

Mycroft chuckled darkly. It was almost a strangled sort of odd sound. Particularly out of the mouth of the normally composed man. "Someone has to be logical. Your actions of the last three days have not renewed my confidence in your ability to separate your emotions from logic."

Mycroft had lost his temper. His voice was perfectly even, but his brother could detect the tightness in it. In Mycroft's heart, and yes he had one although he would deny it, he had known that Sherlock had little choice. But, it was easier to fall back into his old habit of taking control, than to admit that he was afraid of losing his brother, or having him kidnapped and tortured. Again.

Sherlock had calmed down when he sat. That, was quickly forgotten. "I thought that you had changed Mycroft. Consider it the very rare time that I was wrong. Did it occur to you that I might not want that video floating around. With curious eyes looking at it? Of course not! You think that your omnipotence gives you the right to stick your pointy nose where it does not belong. Your little brother is on earth for your amusement. Did you laugh, did you get off on my helplessness? Did you take it to the manor, or your flat. Put it next to your collection of things to bribe little brother with? ..." He continued to rant.

A part of Sherlock realized that he was being unjust. Still, he could not seem to be able to stop himself. The logical part of himself was at the mercy of the swirl of pain, anger, and embarrassment. Someone had seen him at his most helpless, he was fatigued, and Mycroft was being a twit. His brother had always been a safe target for his anger. And, the thought of being forced to do something, even if it was by his brother, and with the best of intentions, had set his emotions in a tailspin.

Mycroft's body stiffened. He held eye contact with his brother.

Sherlock's words cut Mycroft like knives. Each one sliced deeper and deeper into the heart that he always denied that he had. Mycroft could not deny it now. The flow of his sorrow was seeping out of that heart like blood from a wound. It felt like dying. He allowed it. This was Sherlock, his Sherlock. He was his brother, and although he would never speak the words, he was the most important thing to him.

Sherlock got to his feet in quick, jerky motions. He looked at the closed door as he headed in its direction.

"Sit!"

Sherlock stood. Anger was seeping out of his pores. Still, slowly he turned, walked back, and then sat.

Sherlock said nothing for a long while. He simply sat crossed legged in his chair facing his brother. He could feel Mycroft staring at him. "What will you do now Mycroft? Have me kidnapped? Threaten to release that unfortunate video of my… experiment at Uni? Find some other way to force me?" Sherlock entire body held a guarded, angry stance.

"I will try something new, it is actually John's suggestion, so blame us both if my new method of getting you to do as I want is unsuccessful." He paused. Mycroft actually smiled a small, strange smile that betrayed doubt, and hope in equal measure. "Let's compromise. I am asking you to go Sherlock. I will make Doctor Pavlov available now by phone. I'll cancel the appointment for you to go to her office, unless that is your preference, of course. And when this is over, I am asking you to go to at least two months of twice weekly sessions. John can go with you, or myself, or Lestrade. All of us, or none of us can accompany. It's your choice."

Sherlock could not hide the shock. He searched Mycroft and lowered his eyes when he saw the sincerity upon his face. His dark colored brows wrinkled in thoughts.

Sherlock broke the silence. His voice was low, and a bit rougher than normal. "I'll think about it."

The brothers sat together. Time slipped silently between them. The tension in Sherlock did not completely leave, however, it did slowly diminish. That is when he heard it.

"Thank you Mycroft." Sherlock's voice was so quiet that Mycroft might have thought that he had imagined it, if he had not been listening. They were just three words. Sherlock would never understand how those three words sat gently on his brother's soul, healing the rift in it.

Mycroft Holmes and Sherlock Holmes did not just look at each other then, they saw each other. Both brothers were quiet. They were lost in their own thoughts. The pleasant aroma of a meal being prepared, drifted into the flat. It grew more intense, as the minutes passed silently. Neither was surprised when they heard quiet talking, or footsteps ascending the stairs. They were also not surprised to hear the gentle clinking of tea cups on trays, or china as it was carried.


	167. Chapter 167

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 167

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

_Note: Chapter 123, 124, and 126, will be referred to on the next post. _

"… Be cautious. Once a pawn moves, you are committed to that position. If your opponent then tries to attack your center, you can only defend it with your minor pieces…"

_Control the Center of Your Board… Part II_

* * *

**_"She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute, and that good is often an occasion more than a condition." ~_**Gilbert Parker, Pierre And His People

* * *

**_The French Riviera in Western Europe_**

**_The Principality of Monaco_**

She walked onto the balcony, which was located at the back of the villa. The large stone structure, was located an hour into a treacherous car ride up the beautiful, but dangerous rocky mountainous road.

She slowly walked to the rock wall. She paused for a second, looking. It overlooked rocky hills with sharp drops, which overlooked the small country. The rough stone created a slight friction as she pulled her fingers lazily against the top of the stone hued barrier. She usually stayed at the exclusive Hotel the Paris, but a more intimate setting was needed to help her contact, as well as herself to feel secure.

She glanced down at the steep drop beyond the stone walls. If one did fall, it would be a quick, sure death. It was at least fifty kilometers before one would reach the next level area. Her eyes traveled around, as the wind played with her hair. Pockets of green shrubbery, were deposited generously along the sides of the mountainous terrain, and on flat surfaces of the ground. Elegant hotels, and businesses, along with tall palm trees, lined the flat coastal areas, which were near the open blue-green waters. From her view, she could see kilometers of brick buildings, and the beautiful yet densely populated coast. The wind was starting to increase its activities.

She watched a large yacht sail a distance away from smaller boats. The clear blue waters were relatively calm. The skies were flawlessly clear, except for a few rebellious clouds, which crowded themselves along the distant horizon.

She took a moment to close her eyes for a brief moment of reprise. She breathed in the cool ocean breeze as it blew soothingly onto her face. Unfortunately, not even the beauty of such a place could pacify her fears, or still her racing mind. She sat down in the iron chairs, as she waited patiently for the approaching footsteps.

"Ma'am, your appointment has arrived." A voice announced.

The tall man moved the short distance quickly, and quietly. He immediately set with only a quick nod of greeting. He almost seemed to melt in relief, onto the unyielding chair. This time he had spoken in English. She knew that it was an ominous sign, when the former officer of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation, had felt so insecure. His countenance was solemn, yet betrayed the shadows of something deeper. His thick accent resonated in the open space.

"It will happen in thirteen to sixteen days, the project is further along than we had imagined," he began. The cool ocean breeze that blew, carried both his strong tenor voice to her ears, and his fears to her heart.

* * *

**I stand amid the roar  
Of a surf-tormented shore,  
And I hold within my hand the  
Grains of the golden sand—  
How few! yet how they creep  
Through my fingers to the deep,  
While I weep—while I weep!**

~ Edgar Allan Poe, creep

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Before Dawn**_

He opened his eyes, blinking, at the odd sound. His breathing came in rapid, heavy burst. Sweat covered his bare, chilled skin, reminding him of his sweat soaked tee shirt, which had been abandoned on the floor beside his bed earlier. The air felt thin. His mouth helped to take in gulps of it. Several drops of sweat, slowly rolled down his bare chest and neck.

There it was. The sound came again.

The last of the images of his dream, slipped through his mind, like sand through open fingers. He stared at the familiar hairline crack in the ceiling corner, above his bed. Despite his exhaustion, he had managed to get to sleep only an hour ago. He clenched his jaws, as his eyes scanned the dark for the light of his mobile, which was on the bedside table.

The sound resonated for the third time.

He contorted his upper body. The thick duvet and silken bed sheets slipped down to his waist, as he stretched, reaching for his mobile. He touched the phone screen and the display light, lit up. It casts a ghostly shadow on Sherlock's face. Sherlock exhaled heavily, he was not surprised. He wondered with morbid humor, if the man had him on speed dial now. He pushed to connect.

"_Morning sunshine." Jim said with entirely too much cheer for such an early hour._

"What do you want?" Sherlock voice was a mixture of curiosity, fatigue, and irritation.

_Moriarty's voice, in contrast, was annoyingly pleasant. "My, we're in a bad mood this morning. Maybe I can help brighten your day."_

"I think not."

There were a few seconds of silence. There was a clicking sound on Moriarty's mobile phone line, as if someone was tapping computer keys.

Sherlock sighed. "You know how I loath to repeat myself Jim so," there was a pause, "what form of torture do you have for me today."

"_They're not torture, they're tests. I need to show you who you really are."_

"And, who am I?"

"_Me."_

"Back to that are we?" Sherlock lay flat on his back. One hand held the mobile. The palm of his other hand, rubbed tiredly over his eyes.

"_Something's coming Sherlock. Something personal." Moriarty's voice lost all trace of mirth. "It's not even me this time, okay, maybe a little." He giggled, "Did I say a little? Maybe a lot is more accurate. He was going to do it anyway, I just instructed him on how to do it with style!"_

"Who is HE, and what exactly is HE going to do?"

"_That would spoil the surprise Sherlock**. Let us just say that what will happen; has happened**. By the time it's over, they might find you in an alley with drugs coursing through your veins. I would be disappointed if that happened Sherlock. You can inject yourself with all the drugs in the world and you still will not forget. Do you think you'll be able to get off of them this time?"_

_The sound of Moriarty's breathing filled the phone line for a few seconds. "You do realize you were practically begging me to do what I'm about to. You've been a little naughty. I know it wasn't just your brother who has been hindering me lately, not that it will do either of you any good, that." Moriarty whispered as if they were sharing a secret, "We both know that he doesn't have the imagination."_

Sherlock said nothing.

"_This can all end if you come with me now, of your own free will and … give yourself… completely to me. Or, prepare for it to start." Moriarty waited for an answer, but first added in a deadly serious tone." You've made things most inconvenient for me of late. I need for you to stop interfering This is your last warning. Don't take it lightly, my dear."_

The sound of Sherlock inhaling deeply was heard. "When will it start?"

"_It has already begun, Sherlock." Jim Moriarty did not sound gleeful like he normally did. If Sherlock did not think it impossible, he would think Jim sounded regretful._

"_Burrrr…n," Moriarty whispered as he disconnected the mobile line._

Sherlock remained on his back in bed, thinking. Sherlock held the forgotten mobile in his outstretched hand, as his brilliant mind went through the possibilities. They were several that he could identify immediately. Moriarty would be correct, if any of those possibilities that he was thinking of were chosen, his heart would burn.

Sherlock lay in bed, thinking, as time passed in rhythmic waves around him. He did not notice. Soon the sun warmed his skin and face. He still felt cold.

* * *

A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. Lots of Love.

Optional Fun Question: In which BBC episode did Sherlock Holmes** first** use the words, "… all that matters to me is the work, without that my brain rots."

Good luck!

More on the weekend. Deleted memories will be heavily referred to in the next post.


	168. Chapter 168

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 168

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Thank you for your recent post: Bookworm Gal (If you thought Jim was creepy before, wait. Full creep ahead.) , goanago (Thanks for the multiple post. Here's your update.), bruderlein (Thank you much. How far will Sherlock go to save those he loves?), Benfan (Thank you for the multiple reviews. More than a bit not counted coming up.), Cumberbatch of Derren Brownies (Hang in their season threes around the corner. At least that is what I tell myself and my moments of agony.) gemstone1234 (If the last few chapters have rendered you speechless. Forgive me for the following chapters.) kassandwich (You know you're Sherlock. Very good.), Kitiara88 (Get your tea and teddy bear. A few secrets will be revealed.) Coolness10123 (Did not mean to kill you, sorry. I hope this makes up for it. :)), socalrose (Thanks for the multiple chapters reviews. I agree with you. John is like a mirror to Sherlock. He helps him to see who he really is.) foxeeflame (Thank you for your comments. Here are a few chapters to hold you over until next weekend.), eohippus (Thank you for the multiple post. Warning; Get your tea and blanket before reading.), RawrxSushi (Thank you for your comments. The battle begins in earnest.) And to all guest and PMs, thanks.

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**See rating warning.**

Last week's optional fun question was… In which BBC episode did Sherlock Holmes first use the words, "… all that matters to me is the work, without that my brain rots." The answer was, The Great Game. Thank you to all who participated. There were great guesses.

**Edited Congratulations!**: goanago, bruderlein, Benfan, Cumberbatch Of Derren Brownies, gemstone1234, kassandwich, Kitiara88, Coolness10123 , socalrose, foxeeflame, eohippus and Bookworm45669 .

**Warning** Moriarty's not nice*****. *****M rated chapters 169-171******. ****Need I Say More?

Yes? Okay. If you're not bothered by an M rating, **stop reading** **and skip to the story.**

If you want more information read on.

**More information, spoilers**: This paragraph contains slight spoilers. Despite the rating, these chapters are heavy with Sherlock and John and their relationship. For the younger and more sensitive readers, you may want read only 168 (Rated T), or skip chapter 169 (This is the most intense. It is rated M.) Everything from 169-171 are considered a M rating because of the language used, descriptions of violence and assault, as well as other mature subject matter. If you skip, I have not forgotten about you. I will write in such a way as for it to make sense. I promise. It is your choice.

Make yourself happy.

**A/N:** Hi everyone. After today there will be four more post, and then, an epilogue. I have decided it would be fun to title these last posts.

1 It Begins.

2. Feed the Fire.

3. Burn Baby Burn.

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate [situations]. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part I…**_"Attack or Defend… It Begins."_**

* * *

**"_War does not determine who is right - only who is left."_** ~Bertrand Russell

* * *

_**Wandsworth Prision**_

_**Three Days Earlier**_

He was not sure what had awakened him. His eyes opened into reluctant slits, as he blinked away the darkness, and the disorientation of sleep. He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes traveled lazily around. The cell was small. He did not complain; he was happy to not have to share it with another person. Precautions because of his employment, former employment had been taken by the prison officials. He had gone directly there after only three days in jail, and a closed hearing before who he assumed was a magistrate and a barrister. They cited something about national security. He was not even allowed an appeal yet. He doubted that any of it was legal, but was frankly glad to be alive. That brother of Holmes terrified him.

He sighed.

He was not sure why his eyes traveled to the right, but it did. He let out a slight gasp as he sat up quickly, hitting his head against the side of the hard, unforgiving wall. He just sat there for several long minutes looking, as he tried to decide whether he was still dreaming. How could the man get into his prison cell, he wondered with alarm. What was he doing there. Did he come to harm him? If he did, why was he wearing a suit? It was much too nice of a suit to get blood on. After a few minutes of tense silence, his apparition spoke.

"Doctor Robert Anderson," the silhouette of the man in the cell spoke calmly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to talk to a man in a prison cell, at two thirty in the morning. "We need to talk."

Anderson looked warily for a few seconds. He said nothing, but looked at the silhouette as legs crossed. The shadowy figure positioned his outlined body just outside of the shaft of light, which came from the hallway just beyond the metal bars.

"You are in possession of key evidence. One was found at your place of residence, and taken. Isn't that the reason for your little holiday. But, there's another piece of evidence that no one knows about," he now leaned toward Anderson, the shaft of light reached his face, revealing shadowy contours. "Where is it?"

Anderson spoke for the first time. He was glad for the obscurity of the shadows. He hated the frightful paleness of his own face now. The dim light, however, did not hide the slight shaking in his voice. "Why should I? How do I know you're not part of some plan to incriminate me further?"

"I've been the one helping you. I'm the mysterious benefactor that Riley spoke of. I'm here to help you. You have nothing to fear from me." Sebastian Moran leaned forward even more. Half his face was now illuminated by the dim light. It gave him a sinister sort of appearance.

"You have nothing to fear mate. I'll even help get you released." Moran repeated with the voice of silk. "As long as you do as I say, what I say, how I say. Just to be clear Robert, I own you."

Even the dim light could not hide off Anderson's fear.

Sebastian leaned back and said, "Don't worry mate. We both want the same thing."

"And what is that," Robert Anderson asked hesitantly.

Sebastian said easily, "Sherlock Holmes… Broken."

Anderson smiled cautiously. It would almost make the bars, and cage, worth it. "What do you need from me," he asked.

* * *

**_Current Day_**

**_Current Time _**

Worried eyes glanced at the sleeping form. He almost looked peaceful, but he knew that peace was far from him. He walked back and forth thinking before the big windowpane. Hurried pockets of humanity scurried about. Some walked with quick long strides, while others slowly walked, or lingered about.

London.

There was no place like it on earth.

His eyes glanced to the side again. Lestrade had just left. He had been there for hours, despite the fact that he should have been at Scotland Yard. Mrs. Hudson had also just left. She went back to her flat for a short nap. She would be back up in a few hours. Mycroft was on his way over. His voice sounded odd. He stated that he had something of importance to discuss with him. Something life-changing that concerns Sherlock. To further complicate matters, as if the universe was not complicated enough at the moment, Sherlock was due to undergo the harsh treatments, which would restore his two months worth of loss memories.

If someone had said that a meteor was racing toward Europe's coast. He would not have been surprised. Why not, he thought, there is so much good news, what was one more. His hands came unnoticed through his short blonde hair, his lip twisted into a snarl. He wanted to hit something. Maybe it was more accurate to say that he wanted to hit someone. And, his name began with an M.

The familiar sound interrupted his thoughts. John opened his mouth to use profanity creatively. He glanced at Sherlock. He quickly shut it without uttering a sound. He marched over to the ringing mobile. He stretched slightly over the wooden table, picking it up. His face held a look of anger, pure in intent. He reminded himself to control his emotions. He settled himself and took a deep breath.

The mobile rang for the second time.

His eyes cast a fleeting look at Sherlock. The fact that he didn't so much as stir, was telling. John's finger hit the connect button with a little more force than needed.

"_Hello love, did you like my surprise?" A cheerful voice asked on the other line of the phone_.

"You evil, malicious, insane, bloody sodden bastard!" Despite the fact that John's voice was low in volume, he still managed to fill it with all of the emotions and passion that was in him.

"_Well pet. This is a surprise. Where is your master?" Moriarty asked smoothly. Slight annoyance tinged his speech_.

"It depends. Where's your medication?" John said with what he hoped was a steady voice.

_There was a slight pause, "When Sherlock says where's my medication, it's amusing. When you asked me, where's my medication, that's just rude. Do you think it's a good idea to be rude to me? Pet?"_

John took a few moments to reign his emotions in. He became likes stone. "What do you want?"

_There was a chuckle. "I thought, by now, that would've been perfectly clear. But I understand that normal people can be thick. So let me make it so clear that even you will understand. I. Want. Sherlock. And I always get what I want." Moriarty let out a sigh. "It's inevitable. When he sees how everyone turns against him. When he sees how fickled the normal is. How they love him one minute then mock him the next. That might be the push he needs to give in to the dark. He still fights it, but I know it's there, inside, just under the surface."_

"Is that what you call what you did, teaching him?" It was difficult for John to calm himself, despite the fact that he could feel Moriarty's parasitic need for a reaction. In a sense, the Consultant Criminal seemed to feed off of his anger.

_Moriarty's chuckle blossomed into a full laugh. "Don't be such a baby. He's stronger than he looks. So get over it. Besides, it's his fault. I warned him not to interfere in my business matters. He could end this war anytime he wishes. All he has to do is come with me."_

"He'll never go with you, as long as there's breath in my body." John speaks quietly as he glanced at Sherlock. He had not even moved from his original position, except that one hand had slipped from under the duvet. And now lay on the floor by the couch.

"_Maybe I can arrange for that breath to leave your body then." Moriarty's voice was a combination of amusement and irritation. "Well, good chat pet." The line disconnected abruptly._

John stood there for a moment with the mobile phone gripped tightly in his hand. He heard the door open and close. He knew by the steps, who it was. Mycroft stepped as quietly as his brother. If it wasn't for the opening and closing of the door, he would not have known that he was behind him.

"Was that wise, John?" Mycroft said quietly behind him. He did not need to see him to know that he was glancing at his brother.

"No, but it seemed good at the time." He did not ask Mycroft how he knew about the conversation. If the flat was bugged this was one time that he was almost grateful. John silenced Sherlock's mobile. This was the first time in their relationship, that he had ever done such a thing, without Sherlock's permission. John turned around and looked at Sherlock along with Mycroft. Today he would excuse himself. It was not a usual day.

There was an inpatient silence for a minute. Then John moved abruptly, he could not force himself to remain still a moment longer. He spoke as he went along.

"I think I made him angry." John said needlessly. "Tea?" He asked as he looked at the man that he had come to consider, more and more, his friend. Although he knew that Mycroft would never use those words.

Mycroft turn to John and gave a small smile. It was strained. "Yes," he followed John quietly toward the kitchen.

The elder Holmes stopped and watched as John gently lifted Sherlock's hand, and shifted it to rest on his stomach. He then pulled the duvet up to his chin, and then tucked it under. He looked as if he wished that there was more that he could do. After a few seconds of hesitation he resumed moving toward the kitchen.

"How is he?" Mycroft already knew the answer. But he needed to talk, and so did John.

"The same," John went quietly about. He seemed to concentrate on the simple task of turning the light on. Mycroft watched in silence. The sounds and smells of the tea, the high-pitched shriek of the kettle, the water boiling, the gentle clinking sound of porcelain cups being set on wooden trays, were all soothing. Both men rested in the comfortable silence that engulfed them. After a moment they sat at the table, quietly sipping.

Mycroft cleared his throat. He looked deep in thought as a frown knit his brow. John wondered if Mycroft was aware that his facade was fully lowered. "Don't be too concerned John. Moriarty will have plenty to distract him very shortly."

John pointedly looked at Mycroft. He did not say a word with his mouth, but his eyes held a questioning look.

Mycroft returned John's look, "We found two more bank accounts. They are being seized as we speak. We found two hidden properties. We arrested everyone within those two properties. Unfortunately, after the arrests, the properties mysteriously… Exploded." He took another sip as if he was talking about the weather, not blowing up someone's property. "Moriarity should be finding out about our, shall we say, activities," Mycroft's fingers clasped his pocket watch, as he pulled it out and looked before commenting, "now."

John looked for a second as he processed information. He did not try to hide the small smile that graced his lips. They drank tea in silence for a few seconds.

"Exploded," John commented before taking another sip.

"Yes," Mycroft replied.

John smile became wider, "Mysteriously," John added as he raised an eyebrow looking at Mycroft.

"Quite," Mycroft looked back not flinching.

"Good," John resumed drinking his tea as if nothing had happened. If it was anyone else, John would have said that Mycroft had made an emotional decision. But that was impossible. This was Mycroft Holmes. John took a sip as he looked at Mycroft, curiously.

They both looked as Sherlock's mobile phone screen suddenly lit up. Someone was trying to reach Sherlock.

"Yes, Moriarty is aware." Mycroft said casually.

John poured out another cup of tea for Mycroft.

They both looked as the mobile phone screen again lit, to indicate an incoming call. Both men looked at each other, and then looked away. They both ignored Sherlock's mobile.

"More cream and sugar?" John asked casually.


	169. Chapter 169

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 169

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

_Note: Nádherná means Gorgeous._

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate [situations]. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part I… "_**Attack or Defend… It Begins."**_

_**Edited: For those of you who have asked, The following is where you can find some of the references. Any question, ask. **_

These are found in **Deleted Memories (Click on the name Zacha to find)**

_Sherlock's Kidnapping_

123

124

126,

_John's Kidnapping_

135. Chapter 131

* * *

**WARNING:** **Mature themes, M rated  
**

* * *

"**_We wear the mask that grins and lies,  
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,  
This debt we pay to human guile;  
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile… _**

**_We wear the mask."_**

~Paul Laurence Dunbar

* * *

**_Several Hours Earlier_**

**_Current Day_**

The doorbell had rung. Mrs. Hudson had opened the door just before she made her way back up the stairs.

Laughter and conversation floated around the room. They were sitting and having a bite to eat, as they had done many times before. John and Lestrade talked and laughed easily. They were taking a break from the case. Mrs. Hudson's footsteps were heard on the stairs as she made her way back to the small group.

John rose, while still laughing and took the plate of biscuits from her. He immediately took one off the tray and bit into it before depositing it on the table. Mrs. Hudson hit his arm playfully.

"Really John," Mrs. Hudson complained, "People would think that I starve you two, not that I'm your cook, mine." John said nothing. He only grabbed another one. Mrs. Hudson chuckled now.

Lestrade's suddenly stopped talking. His eyebrows rose in interest, as his tongue came out and licked his lips. He happily picked one up and bit into it.

"Are you sure you don't want one," John asked while munching.

Sherlock said nothing, but mimicked a smile and shook no with his head. John looked at him a few seconds longer before looking away.

Sherlock sat slightly away from everyone just observing. He would not say it aloud, but having them around was calming. He generally could not abide such normal things for long, but today it was comforting. He looked away and looked at his hands. They were at rest on top of his crossed legs. His mind traveled to his brother. He had only seen Mycroft for short periods of time over the last five days. He had gotten used to seeing him in the evenings after he had left the office, when he was in town. He dismissed the thought as ridiculous. Since when does he look forward to his brother's visits? He quickly dismissed the reflection. He thought about the morning.

Lestrade had brought some case files over for Sherlock to look at. John had asked him to. He insisted that Sherlock was going to spend the day resting. The fact that Sherlock did not start world war three over John's suggestions, had convinced John that he had done the correct thing.

Sherlock's mobile vibrated in the inner jacket pocket of his suit. He took it out and walked away from the group toward the window. The phone number was unlisted.

"Holmes," Sherlock said simply.

Mrs. Hudson's voice came from behind Sherlock. "Oh dears, a package came for you John, along with it was a letter."

Sherlock's body stiffened as he listened to the voice on the other end.

Sherlock glanced out the window. His attention was drawn to a man who moved out of the crowd and stood to the side, standing still. He observed the man in a pair of blue jeans and a cloth jacket with a hood, which was pulled over his long, red hair. The man with the red hair pulled off his sunglasses. Their eyes locked. He knew those dark eyes. He saw the evil at play in them. In a moment, Holmes knew. Even though the only words spoken into the mobile by the red haired man was, "_It's time."_

Sherlock heard John's voice at that moment. "It says that there will be a special evening news article in _The Star_ tomorrow, followed by a special on the telly tomorrow evening."

He heard Lestrade's slightly heavier steps as he moved next to John. Lestrade's voice was heard next. "It says that it will be on the evening news. It will be a story about Holmes sacrifices to save London two years ago. They say that there are new facts, which have come to light, which shows Holmes to be even more of a hero than what was first reported. It will be on the news later tomorrow, John, they say that you have half an hour to view and call with comments on Sherlock's behalf, if any." He heard Mrs. Hudson remarking, and John and Lestrade were commenting. There was the sound of movement. He could not be sure. They might have said something to him, but his attention was on the red haired man.

"_Your brother was kind enough to reveal my secrets, I'm just returning the favor love."_

Everyone was focused on the strange letter and package. They did not notice that Sherlock's mouth opened wordlessly as he continued to listen to both conversations. They were also unaware of Sherlock's sudden ragged breath.

The click of a DVD player was heard.

Sherlock watched with one hand pressed against the window pane, as the red haired man gave a smile and a small wave.

"Did they say who sent it Mrs. H.?" Lestrade asked.

Mrs. Hudson thought. "Oh, yes, I think the name was a Ms. Riley."

Suddenly John's movement stopped.

"What's wrong John?" Lestrade asked, "John?"

Sherlock saw Moriarty throw a kiss before he started to move again, and disappeared into the crowd. Sherlock did not register the thud of his mobile, as it hit the wooden floor. He rushed forward. He made it as far as his chair, but it was too late. It had already started. He held on tightly to the arm of the chair, frozen.

Everyone in the room was frozen.

"Very good Jim," He smirked a whisper, before it turned into a pained expression. "I'll burn your heart out." Sherlock whispered to himself. "It begins." He willed himself to move, to jump up, or shout to John, to do something. He could not. His body remained frozen. He felt himself slipping back in time. His mind retreated, trapped. He relived the moment as he listened.

_The tape started_

_*There was the sound of struggling._

"_Why are you unbuttoning his shirt you idiot?" (A muffled voice said in a heavy Czech accent.) _

_* The sounds of tearing then the clinking sound of buttons flying violently to the floor were heard. _

_*The sounds of struggling and someone being repeatedly punched increased. _

_*There were curse words in a combination of English and Czech._

_*The sounds of clothing being forcibly torn and removed._

_*An angry cry of pain from a soldier was heard and then flesh being hit and grunts of pain in the sound of Sherlock's voice. _

_*Indistinguishable muffled voices in two languages were heard._

"_Hold him down!" (Voice one)_

"_What do you think I'm trying to do?"(Voice two)_

_*A third voice was heard talking and laughing in both Czech and English._

_*The sound of struggling and cursing on both sides were heard._

_*A muffled and very angry Sherlock Holmes was heard struggling and protesting._

"_Get... your filthy hands... off me." _

_*The sound of someone being hit and air being expelled from lungs, was heard, followed by a long string of expletives in a thick Czech accent._

_(More Curses) "He hit me hard in the stomach. Feels like I'm gonna vomit." (Voice one)_

"_Serves you right, I tolded you to hold him." (Voice two)_

"_I'm trying, he won't stop moving." (Voice one)_

"_Do you too idiots need help?"(Voice three)_

_Curses were heard that was directed at the third voice._

"_You'd better bring the Taser," ( The leader Veselý called loudly to the third soldier who left the room to get torture devices) _

_*The sound of a zipper being pulled was heard._

_*The sound of struggling seemed to increase even more after that sound)_

"_Get off me! I said get the hell off…"_

_*There was a loud slapping sound. The sound of Sherlock sharply inhaling air was heard at the same time._

"_I don't know if I'm going to last, he's so tight, aren't you, nádherná. Finally, got you quiet." (Voice two was interrupted)_

_* A soldier's scream of pain was heard. _

"_The bastard bit me. I can't believe he bit me…Help me hold him!"_

_*Sherlock let out grunts of pain._

"_Our orders are to continue even when he passes out; it has to be at least two hours." (The leader Veselý was heard saying as he looked at his watch)_

_*The sounds of moving and violent struggling on both sides were heard for a few minutes.) _

_* A loud thud was heard._

_*Silence except for a long moan of pain as Sherlock was finally subdued._

"_I'm going to tear you apart!"_

_*The loud slapping sounds started again._

_*Muffled cries were heard from Sherlock then a scream, which quickly became muffled._

_*Gunshots were heard muffled in the background._

_"Leave him! See what's going on, down there now!" (The leader Veselý's voice is heard again)_

John came to himself and stopped the tape. He found that he was physically shaking.

Sherlock looked pale and whispered with a trembling voice, "Well, that was entertaining."

Silence enveloped the room. Everyone looked at each other then at John for direction. No one knew what to say. What could be said?

"Sherlock…" Mrs. Hudson was interrupted. John looked at her and shook a no with his head.

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned back. He had no memories of walking from the window or even sitting down, funny that. He heard voices talking quietly. Someone put their hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He knew it was Lestrade. He kept his eyes closed. He heard Lestrade rock back and forth on the ball of his heels as if unsure of what to do. Finally he heard him sigh, squeeze his shoulder again, and then move away toward the door. Mrs. Hudson's softer footsteps followed Lestrade's footsteps, and soon a soft thud was heard as the door closed.

John realized that his own breathing was still coming much too quickly. He looked at Sherlock. He doubted Sherlock realized that he was shaking slightly. The sound of his friend screaming boomeranged around in his head, and hitting the walls of his consciousness, produced painful reverberations in his mind, and thoughts. The scream, he kept hearing it. His friend had a high threshold for pain. He wondered what could have produced such a sound. The answer came instantly, along with the unbidden images.

John Watson took a ragged breath in, then out, then in again. He took a few seconds to rein in the chaos in his own mind. He steeled his will, and walked over to his Sherlock. After a slight pause, he sat.


	170. Chapter 170

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 170

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate [situations]. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " Chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part I… "_**Attack or Defend… It Begins."**_

* * *

"**_Let your tears come. Let them water your soul." ~ _**_Eileen Mayhew_

* * *

John sat across from Sherlock. His eyes were closed; his hands were positioned in the familiar prayer position, right under his chin.

"John, you're staring," Sherlock commented without opening his eyes.

"Would you look at me Sherlock?" John heard Sherlock sigh as he opened his eyes.

"Yes, John," Sherlock responded with a false calm.

"I made terrorist angry, they had revenge. It happened a long time ago. I'm fine."

"Bull!" John said sternly.

"Do you need tea John? You seem more upset than me. I'm sorry that you," He swallowed, "That all of you had to hear that unpleasant business, but I barely remember the incident. As I said, I'm…" Sherlock voice was low but the tension could almost be felt. "I'm…" He could not bring himself to say the word 'fine' again.

"You have to deal with this." John's voice was quiet. Sherlock did not answer. "I know you. You can't just pretend that it didn't happen. There's been entirely too much, coming at you entirely too fast. You can't keep stuffing them somewhere in a corner of your mind palace. You need a clear head to take Moriarty on, and win. And you will win."

Sherlock did not look or respond to John.

"I knew by the way you moved and talked that something happened. I knew you were beaten, I suspected that they attempted but…" John's voice trailed off for a moment. He looked at Sherlock now. "I made myself believe that I was mistaken."

He had a grim look and swallowed notably before responding. "Maybe I will have that tea after all, John?" Sherlock half smiled hoping to change the subject. It quickly turned into a pained look.

John started to move toward the kitchen when a thought occurred. He stopped. His eyes narrowed. His body became rigid as he marched back arms swinging. "It almost worked Sherlock. You are not going to distract me or sneak out when my back is turned. I can make tea if you like, but I'm not leaving until you tell me everything. Of course I'll wait until you're ready."

"Then it's settled John, I'll call you in a few years, maybe a decade when I am ready." Sherlock put his arms on the chair as if to raise himself.

"You have to discuss this!" John raised his voice stopping him.

Sherlock rose from his chair, and then walked over to John invading his personal space as he towered over him and said with false calm. "They beat me, fucked me, I finally screamed."

John stared open mouth in silent shock. He had never once heard such words leave his friend's mouth.

"Enough information for you?" Sherlock continued to tower over him, glaring at him, "As pleasant as this has been, I'll be off." He turned his back to John and took two steps.

"Sherlock," It was barely a whispered plea.

He stopped. With his back turned, it was obvious that Holmes was breathing heavily and trying to regain control of himself. Finally, he turned to see John still looking at him.

There was a tense silence for a few minutes.

"John do you understand? This is embarrassing and humiliating, and deeply personal and …" Sherlock looked almost pleadingly, "Why can't you just let it go…"

"Because you haven't let it go. You've buried it just like you bury every unpleasant thing Sherlock. You know what happens when you do that. You function well for a while then you have a nuclear size emotional meltdown."

John was hesitant. "I can't let it go because it might be in the newspapers in a day, or two, and I would like to hear the real story from you first." More quietly, "I would also like for you to prepare yourself."

"There is that." Sherlock said bitterly.

"You have to deal with it Sherlock," John said quietly.

Sherlock asked with venom glaring. "You think you have a magic ball and can see right through me?" Anger was rising along with the tremor in his voice."H… How do you know I have… haven't dealt with it Doctor Watson."

"So we're calling each other by last names now are we?** Fine**." John looked Sherlock in the eyes determined.

"Because I know you **Mr. Holmes**. I'm no Sherlock Holmes but I know my friend. I see things that no one else sees with the exception of your brother on some things, and that's only recently."

Sherlock's voice was dangerous and low, his eyes dark. "Don't ever think you can deduce me John. Don't ever think that you are capable of that."

The look that Sherlock gave him would have had most men cringe and back down. John was not most men. He stood his ground. He looks Sherlock up and down. "I see the shaking that's getting worse. That happens when you try to bury your feelings. And,** yes** I did use the dirty word, **feelings**, which are trying to come out. Your breathing is increased and you're tapping your foot like you're trying to force yourself not to flee. You stuttered. You don't even stutter when a gun is pointed at your head or a bomb is next to your arse."

With his hands on his hips, the doctor took a breath, calming. "But, you do stutter when in deep emotional distress. You don't exactly fall apart easily, so that mean that there are very few things on this earth that puts you in deep emotional distress."

John frowned. "I think an assault might be one of those _it's time to fall_ apart things Sherlock."

Sherlock, without a word sat down stiffly.

John sat opposite him.

John pulled his body closer in his chair but remained seated.

"You have to deal with it. Forty-four hours will come whether you want it to or not."

Sherlock pulled himself forward in the chair, matching John. The Consultant Detective did not realize that his bent hands were balled into fist. Emotion collided brutally within him. Sadness. Embarrassment. Guilt. Shock. Fear. Anger. Shame. Anger. Shame. **Anger**…

Sherlock suddenly bolted upright again and glared irritably at John.

"**I am a thirty-one year old man; I can take care of myself!"** Sherlock growled as he again prepared to walk away from John.

John's voice stopped him.

"You couldn't that day." John said calmly without taking his eyes off Sherlock.

Sherlock stopped mid-stride. The normally graceful Consultant Detective almost tripped over his own feet. Sherlock felt like someone punched him in the gut. It was more painful because it was John. He was one of the few people that he allowed close enough to hurt him.

"W… What?" Sherlock whispered in shock. He looked at John as his legs lost their strength and he collapsed on the floor next to his chair. John partially caught him as they both gracelessly found the floor. Sherlock leaned against the back of the chair for support. He suddenly felt boneless.

He gave up all pretense of calm now. His eyes were wide and his mouth opened. No other sound came out as he stared at his friend. He did not even notice when a tear rebelled and fell. He stared at John with feelings of confusion. He felt like a knife was stabbed in his chest and he did not have the strength or will to remove it.

"I said you couldn't that day, Sherlock."

"John?"

John slowly slid his body on the floor so that he sat shoulder to shoulder next to Sherlock.

"There are evil people out there. You fight against them all the time. Every day someone is robbed, killed, murdered, and raped Sherlock," he felt Sherlock flinch at the word rape.

"Can we use another word John?"

John was confused for a moment then realized what he was saying. "What word would you like me to use?"

"I can live with assault. It's a nice neutral word, it can mean anything."

John raised his eyebrows, "See what I mean about burying your feelings and living in denial?"

Sherlock said nothing staring straight ahead. John sighed as he thought for a minute.

"Do you think I'm strong Sherlock?"

"Oh course, John," Sherlock said in a shaky voice. Sherlock had stopped looking at John and only started to look again when questioned.

"Two years ago, I was kidnapped as well. Ayyad already beat me and was about to have me beaten more severely, tortured, and raped in front of you, then killed in revenge. I am five years older than you are Sherlock. I am a skilled shot with a gun. I have been trained in hand-to-hand combat although admittedly rusty in the area, and I am a combat experienced soldier. I managed to stay alive in a war zone for four years. That didn't matter."

John paused to make sure that the words he said had time to soak through into his friend.

"There was nothing that I would have been able to do. You came in the doors, gun drawn, out thinking the lunatic and saved me Sherlock. If you did not, I could not have stopped him."

He paused before saying, "It wasn't because I was weak or failed. It would not have been my fault. It was outside of my control." John looked at him, "It was outside of your control."

John took a breath, "It happens Sherlock; to men, to women, even, God forbid, to children. You can be wealthy, strong, and intelligent. It can still happen."

John thought of a way to reach his friend. Sherlock seemed determined see his assault as a personal failure. He seemed to be of the opinion that he should have been able to stop the assault. He had to find a way to cut through the false guilt, and self-blame that his friend felt.

"Sherlock, you say that data and facts are more important than anything, right? So, let's examine the data, the facts without anything else at the moment."

After a breath, "You were in a car accident, kidnapped, beaten, and then sexually assaulted. Not one, but all of these events occurred within the space of a few hours."

He paused for Sherlock to confirm.

The younger Holmes only looked grim.

"Correct Sherlock?" John asked more firmly.

"Yes." Sherlock managed barely above a whisper. John could tell he was trying unsuccessfully to sound clinical and emotionless.

John continued, "Then you were taken by Mycroft into protective custody to keep you safe. You managed to escape, running toward the very people that just abused you and threaten to torture you again. You fought off Ayyad's men with the help of Agent Thomas, for the purpose of rescuing me, which you did by the way. Correct?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Can you say it please?" John's voice was gentle but still firm.

"Yes." Sherlock's voice was even quieter now. Sherlock eyes were fixed as if he was lost in a memory.

John noticed and frowned. He put his hand on Sherlock's arm. The Consultant Detective jumped at the contact and blinked a few times, then looked at John. John did not take off his hand but kept it connected. He did not want Sherlock retreating to his mind.

"And," John continued, "… when you thought you could finally collapse and rest, maybe have a good cry, feel sorry for yourself then schedule an emotional breakdown, you had to put it on hold to save your brother and stop a dirty bomb from exploding taking most of downtown London with it. All the while, you were in a great deal of pain, physically and personally. The entire event took place within the space of twenty-four hours."

"Did I miss anything Sherlock because I'm getting out of breath just talking about it?" John squeezed Sherlock's arm.

"You're incredibly brave Sherlock. If I was in your place, Thomas would have found me in a corner somewhere rocking back and forth." John tried to lighten the mood.

"I know you John. You would have come and rescued me first. **Then **maybe you would have found that corner and rocked back and forth." Sherlock attempted a small smile but it quickly left his face.

"It wasn't your fault. I've seen you take down easily several men outnumbering you in a fair fight." John shook his head, "Nothing about what those animals did was fair. Nothing about that recording is fair. Nothing about what happened to you is fair. And, as for Moriarty, he's not even a person."

John voice became angry, "Fine, Moriarty had a rough life, but so did you. You didn't use it as an excuse to hurt people. You're admittedly little rough around the edges, but you use your mind to help. There may have been something good in him at one time but something twisted Moriarty into something that's not even recognizable as human anymore."

"He cannot stand the fact that you are, despite everything that has happened to you, you're more human that most people I know. You remain strong."

"Nothing about this choice you have to make is fair." John's voice choked with emotions.

They both became quiet for a moment before Sherlock broke the silence.

"You're wrong John." It was barely a whisper.

"About what Sherlock?" John asked.

"That day, I wasn't brave. I was simply trying to put one foot in front of the other, to make sure that everyone that I lov…" Sherlock cleared his throat. "Um… cared about were alive and unharmed at the end of that day."

John chuckled sadly. "If that wasn't brave, more of us should be your version of not brave."

"We're lucky to have our own version of a superhero."

"I'm not a superhero, John. They don't exist." Sherlock said quietly.

"You are to me, Sherlock" John touched his arm.

"I deduce you are." John said with a look of serious contemplation on his face. "I've worked it all out. The way your mind works. I think you and your brother are secretly from some planet somewhere. That's the super part. That would also explain a… lot! The way you're always rescuing someone with that gigantic brain of yours. That's the hero part."

"My conclusion, Super plus hero equal superhero. It's all quite scientific." John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked back at John bewildered for a few seconds before saying...

"You do realize, you're an idiot?"

John only broke into a wide smile.

Sherlock, despite his resistance could not help the small chuckle that escaped his lips, nor, then smiling back. John seemed to always know how to get past his barbwire defenses.

John hit Sherlock's shoulder with his own shoulder almost childishly, and then he said, "I'm listening."

He noticed that Sherlock was shaking his head, with his eyes closed. A stray tear rolled down his face, but he said nothing as he leaned his head back against the chair. John squeezed his friend's arm again to show support.

John looked without saying a word more.

Sherlock finally opened his eyes and just stared quietly as he processed what was said to him. He looked at John then down to the floor.

John waited for him.

He waited with him.


	171. Chapter 171

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 171

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

**Warning** Moriarty's not nice*****. *****M rated ******. ****Need I Say More?

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate [situations]. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part I… "_**Attack or Defend… It Begins."**_

* * *

"**_Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength."_**

* * *

Breathe, he told himself.

This is John, Sherlock reminded himself. John would never judge him or hurt him knowingly. He never thought that he was the kind of man to care, or be affected by such things as what a person thought of him. Apparently, he was wrong. He knew this because the thought of him being so emotionally intimate and open was terrifying to him. He had been trained all his life to disregard emotions, by his father in the most brutal ways. Even, by Mycroft. How could he now cross that last line? He told John things that he told no one. John had also shared things that he shared with no one else. However, there were still somethings, about his time being held captive, about his childhood, about…this… that he had kept safely locked away.

Sherlock looked at John now. His eyes, those eyes, they were still full of trust and admiration, even now. That brave soldier that would follow him into danger, who would protect him, who would give his life for him. He knew those things as surely as he knew his own name. He glanced away again, frowning. He was not even sure if he was emotionally able to do what John was asking of him. But, this was John. He had to try. If only he could speak.

There was silence for a few minutes.

"What exactly am I supposed to say?" He started in a whisper, his voice rough and heavy with contained emotions. "That I felt, feel humiliated, John? Embarrassed, angry, very, very angry? It should not happen to anyone. It was not suppose to happen to me. I'm young, strong, and confident. I'm supposed to have a genius intellect. I stared down killers and outsmarted the most brilliant criminal minds in the world."

Sherlock shook his head. "It didn't matter John. I couldn't think my way out. I couldn't reason my way out. I tried, but I couldn't fight my way out. They…" Sherlock's hands came up to cover his eyes as if he could block out the memories.

After a few minutes, he felt John's hand on his back. He heard a sound beside him. He saw an opened bottle of water next to him. He wondered when John had gotten up.

John. He was always there. This was John. He was safe. He took a deep breath.

"I… I was … afraid, John," Sherlock said quietly somewhat embarrassed.

"You know me; you once told me that I didn't have enough sense to… to be afraid." Sherlock half smiled now looking at John who kept eye contact with him. Sherlock's smile faded into a grim look, "It was four men, the leader Veselý and three that restrained me."

Sherlock took a shaky breath before continuing. "They laughed at me, well, three of the soldiers. The leader Veselý looked almost apologetic. He did not want to be there, but he was following orders. He has been determined to not just carry them out, but to be the one to finally succeed in breaking my will. It was nothing… personal," Sherlock said bitterly.

"I fought John. I did try. I did not stop fighting."

Sherlock swallowed hard and voice lowered, "They demonstrated to me in the most severe ways that they were not happy about this fact. I managed to bruise them some, even broke one of their noses."

Sherlock smirked sadly then frowned. "This only angered them more. Struggling stopped me from going to Ayyad directly, but I still had to deal with his man, Veselý. Unfortunately, Veselý was not a complete idiot like his men. He knew how to _break me,_ as he put it."

"When Veselý kidnapped me, I fought. I fought in the car as they drove me to the location. I fought forcing them to drag me up the stairs. I fought when they undressed me…" Sherlock bit his lips and suddenly loss his voice. He wondered why it was suddenly difficult to breathe.

Where did all the air go? Sherlock wondered.

"I'm here Sherlock. Slow your breathing down. It's alright…" John just reassured with his voice, talking constantly to his friend until his breathing became closer to normal. Sherlock looked at John as though he was his lifeline.

Just keep talking, Sherlock reminded himself. He opened his mouth and spoke.

"I always seemed to fight, John. My fighting did buy me time but still, in the end; it came down to the same thing. What did it really matter? They told me in great detail how they would alternate between torture, and beatings. The … equipment they would use to torture me. How they would take turns… sexually assaulting me for two hours. They worked it all out, the details. It was quite brilliant actually. How they would not kill me but leave me blind. He let me see the knife that they would use to carve the name of Ayyad on my chest." Sherlock did not notice that his hand ran reflectively across his chest, "Still I fought."

"That is one of the things that I love about you Sherlock, your, I_ will not give up_ attitude. Your fight. The way I see it, that fight in you, saved not only my life and your brothers. It saved London from a bomb," John commented.

Sherlock continued, John wondered if he heard his comment. "One soldier went to get the bag containing tools to assist with my torture, one held me in place while the other brutally… forced… penetration. The… event was short-lived. Thomas came in shooting."

"It was so painful. I tried not to scream. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction. I muffled my mouth against my arm, but I could not help it. The pain was so sudden and intense I didn't have time to prepare for it. I felt like my insides were being split in two…" Sherlock almost sounded apologetic for not being able to take the pain without crying out.

He paused for a few minutes before speaking again. "That still wasn't enough John. Not the … the…" Sherlock closed his eyes and swallowed, "… rape, not the beatings, not the torture, they wanted to break me John. Completely shatter who I am."

He took a deep breath. "They were interrupted when Agent Thomas came. He ended the torture." He looked at John. "I think he saved both my sanity and my life." I would not have survived another hour and forty–five minutes. Maybe my body would have survived but my mind…" Sherlock looked at something unseen by John.

Sherlock smiled darkly. "However embarrassing it might have been; I do admit to the fact that I wished that Thomas had come fifteen minutes earlier."

"You were rap… assaulted and beaten and told no one." John asked. Sherlock looked away again.

"It was a busy day, John." Sherlock smiled darkly. "I could not hide the fact that I was beaten or in pain. Everyone assumed that the pain came from the beatings and car accident. It was easier to let them assume. Thomas suspected but I did not confirm. To my surprise, Veselý allowed me to dress during the gun battle before they reached where we were."

Sherlock paused. "I must have retreated to my mind briefly, Veselý seemed to notice and reminded me to continue to get dressed so that no one would find me, _exposed_. He did not seem happy with himself for what he caused and allowed. By the time Thomas shot his way up to me, I was dressed, everyone else was dead." Sherlock shrugged.

"So you told no one." John shook his head, unbelieving as he tried to hide his anger.

"I was going to tell you John. I called you on your mobile phone but…" Sherlock looked pleadingly.

"… But I was kidnapped. I wasn't there." Understanding hit John like a hard slap. John knew he had no control but still felt guilty.

"You feel guilty, why?" Understanding emotions, even his own has always been Sherlock's area of weakness.

"You were there trying to save everyone, who was saving you, Sherlock? You were in such pain that day..."

John stopped suddenly and turned away, thinking. His eyes closed then opened wide.

John looked incredulously at Sherlock. "Your coat," he whispered, more to himself than Sherlock. "Your bloody coat."

Sherlock sighed, looking away from John again. "Worked something out, did you John?"

"That's why you kept your coat on the day you rescued me. It would have been easier to fight with your coat off. It struck me as odd later, but it was so much happening that day. The first thing that you did when you gained consciousness, when you found out about Mycroft being injured was to ask for your coat. You would not take the bloody thing off."

"Why Sherlock?" John asked grimly.

"If you know the answer why do you ask?" Sherlock said evenly.

"Why Sherlock?" John asked as he put his hand back on his arm. Sherlock sighed dramatically and looked toward John. John looked into his friends eyes and his frown grew. Sherlock's eyes spoke before his words.

"As the day drew on, it was becoming, shall we say, more clear where some of the blood was coming from. It was easier to cover it with my coat on." Sherlock said quietly.

"Sherlock you were bleeding, you could have died. And, you call **me **an idiot. No wonder you were so weak toward the end. You could not even walk unassisted." John paused frowning. "I'm somewhat angry at you for not saying something."

"John I was bleeding from various cuts and a few lacerations, not just… the assault. I tolerated the pain. I always do."

"Don't do that." John voice deepened with anger.

"Do what." Sherlock asked confused.

"Dismiss your pain; the **body is just transport crap**. Your pain is important and matters. Is it some childhood thing Sherlock? Why do you almost seem to accept pain? Tolerate it as if it was some normal thing?" John was getting emotional at the thought of Sherlock's easy acceptance of his personal suffering.

"John, can we discuss my childhood another time. Let's measure out the trauma, shall we."

John looked chastened. "Sorry Sherlock."

"It's alright, you meant no harm."

John looked Sherlock in the eyes. "It's just… it's just I want you to understand that you matter. I want you to remember that you have a family now who wants you around and that you matter. I want you to know that you are important too."

"You were there for so many people that day, who was there for you?"

"Many people were John. They tried to be there but they did not know all the facts, and I was more concerned with…" Sherlock turned away.

"Finding me." John said knowingly.

Sherlock shrugged.

John looked alarmed. "Sherlock did you ever get treatment, a blood test."

"At the hospital when I um…" Sherlock searched for a word.

"Fainted?" John offered.

Sherlock corrected. "Lost consciousness, John. It was obvious when they changed me into a hospital gown what happened."

Sherlock frowned at the memory. "I assure you John, it was quite disconcerting to wake, forgetting for a moment where you were, thinking the hands holding you, touching you …"

"Strangers staring at you, and asking the most unwelcome questions. I'm afraid that I knocked down two of the medical workers before I remembered where I was. They had to find Lestrade to calm me. Mycroft's personal physician arrived. He told me that Mycroft earlier that day instructed him to give me a _full examination and treatment whether I liked it or not_, his words exactly."

"Lestrade stayed right outside the room waiting the entire time. Later, when the doctor finished and I was transferred to the hospital room, he stayed in the room with me until he was called away by the Yard. Lestrade never said a word. I didn't want to worry you. You were down getting X-rays and scans of your head. Maybe a small part of me wanted to forget the entire event."

"Sherlock why didn't you have them get me?"

Sherlock smiled at John. "You were beaten for hours, hit in the head, drugged, and dehydrated John. You had some blood loss yourself. What were you to do? Tell them to stop stitching you up? Would you have them pull the Intravenous fluids from your arm so that you could hold my hand and sing to me? What would you have done, Stop your own medical treatments, never mind the fact that you were close to fainting yourself?''

"**Yes!"** John answered passionately.

Sherlock smiled sadly. "Don't you see John, that's why I didn't tell you."

"What about later Sherlock?"

There was silence for several seconds.

"I started to tell you several times. I opened my mouth, I just couldn't… I couldn't say the words. I **did** tell you John, Just not directly."

John searched his mind, then his eyes widen as he recognized the truth of his friend's words. Again, guilt washed over him.

"Stop that John, It wasn't your fault. If anything, knowing that I would see you in a few hours helped me to tolerate the procedures. I kept myself busy once Lestrade left. I snuck in to see Mycroft, to see Thomas."

"But not me?" John asked a little hurt.

"No, I needed time to get my, um," Sherlock frowned searching for the right words.

"Emotions?" John offered in a supportive voice.

"Yes… those… under control. I would have fallen apart if I saw you then. I knew that you would have seen through me."

"That explains a lot," John nodded and smiled guiltily.

Sherlock looked in John's face, raised his eyebrows and said simply, "Confess."

"Um… Well, I sort of did sneak in to see you Sherlock while they were still treating me. That's when I discovered that you weren't in your room. I went ballistic and notified the agents to search."

"John." Sherlock sounded impressed, "You're always so… _cooperative_."

Sherlock had a real smile now. It left and was replaced with a look of supremacy.

"John I think that you owe me an apology for the times that you've accused me of being, and I do quote, _uncooperative in my medical care_." Sherlock glared at John.

"Perhaps," John said looking away.

"Definitely," Sherlock insisted.

"It would seem that I was the cooperative one in my medical care that day while you were not." Sherlock was happy to point out the fact with a smug look.

John just folded his arms and raised his eyebrows glaring at his friend.

Sherlock frowned. "Apart from the withholding important medical information, and sneaking around the hospital thing," Sherlock conceded while waving one hand in the air dismissively.

"How did you manage to get four floors away without anyone noticing anyway?" John wondered out loud.

"It's easier than you think. Act as if you belong and most people do not question you. I could not remain still until you or Mycroft was in the room. My mind would become… unpleasant if I did." Sherlock paused briefly, "Besides, I had to make sure that Thomas was receiving proper medical care. You'd be surprised at the level of incompetence that exists today."

John looked at Sherlock. "You do realize that we found you nearly passed out close to Thomas' room?"

"A mere miscalculation." Sherlock dismissed quickly, "I don't remember much. I just remember waking up in my hospital bed and Mycroft staring at me from his hospital bed." Sherlock frown and had a faraway look, "He wasn't very happy John."

"How many stitches?" John asked quietly. He immediately realized it was a mistake.

Sherlock looked haunted, he seemed to be staring, yet seeing nothing for a long time.

John regretted the last question. He was an idiot, John decided. He wondered if he had pushed Sherlock too far. He was about to say something, to change the topic when he heard him speak in a little more than a whisper.

"Two." After a brief silence, "Mycroft's private doctor stitched me up, gave medicine and blood, did all of the appropriate tests." He looked resigned, "Mycroft woke up in the hospital long enough to call his private physician in. I couldn't argue my way out of it. Honestly, I was so glad that my annoying brother was alive, and tired of hurting, I would have done pretty much anything that he had asked. To this day, surprisingly, Mycroft has never commented on the entire…event."

He spoke again in a volume that was barely above a whisper, "I was lucky John. I was kidnapped twice by terrorist. The first time I was kidnapped for two weeks. You found me barely alive, but I recovered. The second time was…most unpleasant, but short-lived. I was rescued quickly. If Thomas did not find me when he did… I was lucky…" He swallowed hard, "That's what I keep telling myself at least."

Sherlock sighed before saying tiredly, "It's over and done John. I would have been happy to never give the subject another thought," He laughed bitterly, "It would appear that my choice have been taken away from me."

He paused quietly and stilled himself before saying. "Again."

John said nothing else. He just sat next to Sherlock shoulder to shoulder. He noticed that his friend's body had fine tremors consistently now. He was about to get up and get him a blanket when Sherlock spoke. He felt that it was more important to let him speak and to listen.

"John, they were supportive, after all I was beaten badly. Lestrade was being supportive. Mycroft was doing the overprotective thing that he does. Mrs. Hudson helped me the most. She even gave me your gun and bullets."

"Mrs. Hudson?" John asked, not surprised.

"Mrs. Hudson, John." Sherlock's voice became tender.

"I had just had a panic attack after auguring with Mycroft. She somehow knew that I was about to sneak off to find you. I supposed I must have looked a proper mess. She sat me down wiped my face clean, gave me your gun with bullets, gave me a hug and told me, _off with you_.

Sherlock smiled briefly as he looked at John, "We both know that I normally have no trouble with self confidence. However, that was a difficult day for me, for us all I suppose. I was so tired John and weaker, and hurting despite the pain medication. I needed someone to believe that I could do it. She was that someone who believed."

There was a moment of quiet reflection for them both.

John swallowed hard. "You never allowed me to say it Sherlock."

"I told you before, no." Sherlock sighed quietly.

"I need to say it. Why won't you ever allow anyone to say it?" John was persistent.

"I don't need you to; you would have done the same." Sherlock dismissed his friend.

"You heard me, but you weren't listening Sherlock.** I** need to say it." John pleaded with his eyes.

Sherlock looked at him intently and nodded listening.

"Thank you for coming for me, for saving me from being assaulted, and tortured." He put his hand on Sherlock's arm. "Thank you for saving my life Sherlock."

Sherlock's voice was full of emotion. "You're welcome John."

There was a moment of silence. Neither felt the need to say anything during it.

Sherlock turned to John and frowned. "John, I'm cold."

Sherlock was shaking more now. John got up and held out a hand to Sherlock. He pulled Sherlock up and led him to the couch to sit. John left briefly then came back with a thick blanket. He wrapped a blanket around Sherlock's shoulders.

"J...John I think the events of today may have produced mild s… shock." Sherlock said as he looked curiously at his shaking hands. "Traitorous transport," he whispered, adding almost as if it was an afterthought.

"I never would have guessed that Sherlock." John said somewhat sarcastically. "Let's get your mind off of… well everything for a while. Lay down. I'll put the kettle to boil and make a few sandwiches. Maybe watch crap telly. It's too early for Jeremy Kyle, but we can find someone else for you to yell at. We need to get you warmed up a bit, before it gets bad."

John's hand froze on the handle of the refrigerator. "Sherlock you didn't mix the lunch meat with body parts again did you?"

"No… John." Sherlock said insulted. "Um… but, perhaps it would be best not to use any milk."

A knock on the door and then a voice, "Yoo-hoo."

"You don't usually knock?" John commented as he came into the room and took the eat-off tray from Mrs. Hudson.

"I just made some tea, your favorite Sherlock dear and those sandwiches that you like. I'll bring a little something up later loves."

John deposited the tray on the table by the couch. "Raise your head, Sherlock."

"What for?" But even as he asked, he had already lifted his head and John sat down putting a pillow in his lap.

John sat down, "Lay your head on the pillow."

"You're being… ridiculous John. I'm not a child in need of cuddling." Sherlock said shivering. However, even as he said this, he laid his head down on the pillow in John's lap.

"Warm up a bit then you need to finish off at least one of those sandwiches," John was rubbing circles with his flattened hand vigorously on his back, and limbs, to try to warm his friend up. "You actually have muscles now. We can't have you going back to bones in a suit, like you were when we first met."

Sherlock rose on one elbow to drink a few sips of the hot liquid then stretching his arm; put it back down frowning.

"I was never… bones in a suit." Sherlock was insulted but he had to admit, just the slightest bit warmer."

"Yes you were!" Both Mrs. Hudson and John answered simultaneously. They both looked at each other surprised.

"F… Fine, one sandwich." Sherlock said begrudgingly. He took the sandwich and slowly munched on half.

"Crap telly Mrs. Hudson?" John asked.

"Later. Right now you boys go about what you were doing." Mrs. Hudson disappeared down the stairs after giving both Sherlock and John a kiss on the cheek.

There was a moment of silence. Sherlock shaking was present, but had lessened even more.

"Sherlock."

"Yes John."

John was hesitant. "What will you do?"

"I refuse to be blackmailed John. Whatever that means, I'll have to face it."

"I'm not saying that you should be blackmailed, but," there was a brief pause by John, "… what about Mycroft. Are you sure you should keep him out of this?"

Sherlock turned from his side to his back. He stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.

"Are you prepared to read about the most difficult and personal time of your life in print?"

Sherlock looked John in the eyes, said nothing for a few minutes.

"John, it would probably be best if I am not left alone tonight." John looked at Sherlock then understanding came to him. "You mean it's a danger night?"

Sherlock gave his friend a _don't be an idiot _look.

"Is anything here?"

"I haven't even had the desire for years."

"Is that a no, Sherlock?"

"That's a no, John."

"How strong?"

"Not very, but the thought of numbing myself mentally and making this all go away, occurred twice now. I once promised that I would say something. Consider this me saying something. I'll try to sleep. It should not be too hard considering how the events of the day have drained me."

He then closed his eyes. John did not notice that he was stroking his friend's hair as he frowned, thinking. Sherlock did not comment or argue.

If he had noticed, it may have given John cause for alarm that the normally independent Sherlock Holmes was not just allowing it, but welcoming it. He seemed to lean into his friend's hand. He was asleep within minutes.

Sherlock's sleep clock made no distinction between night and day. He would, on a good day without cases, average four hours of sleep a day. He never woke as he lay on the pillow in John's lap, and later that day on the couch as Mrs. Hudson and John watched television, and ate close by. He never knew that Lestrade came by to check on him, or Molly came by with body parts to cheer him up. He never knew that John had spoken with Moriarty, or Mycroft had come by. He never noticed when Mycroft returned at two in the morning, sitting in a chair and looking at him, as he made and received calls and texts. They took turns watching him as the others rested in two-hour shifts.

He never woke.

He did not stir.

He never knew of the cocoon of people that surrounded him with protection. All determined to help him make it through that long night.

Sherlock slept a dreamless sleep as they prepared for the morning to come.

* * *

**A/N: Next post on the weekend.**

**Optional Fun Question**: What non-Sherlock film is Benedict Cumberbatch currently featured in? Or, what non-Sherlock film was Martin Freeman featured in? I hope everyone knows this. I thought I would give you something easy after the trauma that you've been through.

Lots of love.


	172. Chapter 172

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 172

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Thank you for your recent post: Guest #1 (Correct, thank you for participating.), gemstone1234 (Thank you for your generous words.), lizzie1250 (Did you enjoy the hobbit?), Bookworm Gal, (Fire up the bonfire. Make it hot! ;) ), Coolness10123, (Anderson/Moran/Moriarty. The trio of evil.), Benfan space (Thank you for the multiple reviews. The storm begins.), socalrose (Thank you for the multiple post. Get more tea.), kassandwich (Thank you much, ready? :)), bruderlein (Thank you for telling me about, The Fifth Estate), foxeeflame (Take a deep breath. Star Trek is coming soon.), Lillkin (Thank you for the multiple reviews. Maybe just tea this time.), eohippus (Thank you for the multiple reviews, and kind words. Are the blanket, and cookies ready?), Cumberbatch Of Derren Brownies (Hang on. Enjoy the ride.), Prothoe (Thank you for the multiple post. Thank you for your moving words.), goanago (Thank you for the multiple post. More to come, I hope you enjoy), Benfan(Thank you for the multiple reviews. Get a warm blanket.), Guest #2 (Thank you much. Prepare your computer for more emotions.), Puky2012 (Thank you for commenting multiple times. Get some chocolate love.), Bookworm45669 Thank you for participating multiple times. I have edited the previous chapters to include your name. ), Natalia (I'll close with your words. Darkness is coming.) To all guests and to those who sent PMs, thank you.

Thank you ; Bookworm45669, foxeeflame, Warelock, lizzie1250, Natalia Trevor, RawrxSushi, kamelion, Kelllie, nourss, Me And The Time Vortex, deaka, goanago, Whosawesome, Rouge Singer, Nourss, goanago, Lillkin, It's-Somebody, lizzie1250, Dawnfire11, RiverSong11, georgiporgiepuddingandpie, . , e la mucca salto sulla luna, kassandwich, T're Urvawi, lizzie1250, Kelllie, Sdale05, jack63kids, kassandwich ,macgyvershe, cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

Last week's fun question was; what non-Sherlock film is Benedict Cumberbatch currently featured in? Or, what non-Sherlock film was Martin Freeman featured in?

A few these answer surprised me. Thank you everyone for participating as well as educating me on a few things to look forward to, (happy face.) The Hobbit, An Unexpected Journey, Star Trek – Into Darkness, The World's End, Osage County, Hobbit movie The Desolation of Smaug , and The Fifth Estate,

**Edited. Congratulations:** Guest, gemstone1234, lizzie1250, Bookworm Gal, Coolness10123, socalrose, kassandwich, bruderlein, foxeeflame, Cumberbatch Of Derren Brownies, goanago, Bookworm45669, RawrxSushi, and Benfan.

A/N: Hi everyone. After today there will be four more post, and then, an epilogue. I have decided it would be fun to title these last posts.

1 It Begins.

2. **Feed the Fire. (This week's post.)**

3. Burn Baby Burn.

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate [situations]. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part II…_**"Attack or Defend… Feed the Fire**_.

* * *

_**"The most persistent sound which reverberates through men's history is the beating of war drums."**_ ~Arthur Koestler, _Janus: A Summing Up_

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

"Are you in trouble love?" The older woman asked, concerned.

She did not answer at first. She knew that she was not supposed to say anything. But, she was in trouble. She had known the older woman for two years. The older woman was as close to a friend as she had ever had.

"Yes. I can say no more." She frowned. "I shouldn't have been here today. I'm going to get a thorough scolding when someone finds out."

The older woman thought for a moment. "Well then, go out that way," she nodded with her head toward the back door, "I'll tell them you went in the opposite direction." The older woman smiled at her friend. "It works in all the movies."

She looked at the old woman with respect, and regret. If this worked she would not see her for a long time. If it did not, she was in trouble. Either way, something would be lost in the next few minutes.

She nodded to her. There were no words right now.

The older woman looked at her. "Let me know that you're okay love, when you can, that is." She raised her chin and said with fake irritation. "Off you pop." The older woman winked at her. She nodded back.

Within minutes, she made her way to the stairs, ignoring the lift. She had to make it outside, then away.

* * *

_**Forty Hours Earlier **_

_**Dubai**_

Abigail sat with her legs crossed. She easily pushed a rebellious strand of hair behind her ears. Her voice was all sweetness and sugar. "I haven't seen you for days, Blake," she whined. "Can't you tell me when you will leave?"

She had asked him the same question every day for the past four days. He had never answered, however, she felt his resistance breaking apart slowly, it felt as if it was about to shatter.

Thomas sighed long-suffering. "I'm leaving in ten days. Happy now?"

"Absolutely happy," Abigail beamed. "If you're leaving in ten days can I see you tonight?"

"Abigail we've discussed this before, as much as it pains me to say it, I will not be able to. I have last-minute details to take care of." There was a slight hesitation on Agent Blake Thomas' part, or Blake Smith as she knew him to be. "Maybe I can steal away tomorrow night, but only for three hours Abigail."

Abigail giggled enthusiastically. "Thank you Blake." Her voice lowered and became seductive, "I promise to make it worth your while, love."

Blake was quiet for a few seconds before clearing his throat. "Stay safe. I'll see you in a few days Abigail."

"I'll see you tomorrow love," Abigail said before disconnecting the phone. The smile left her face. She pressed her lips together as her eyes narrowed. She thought for a few minutes. Her long manicured fingers slid up against her lips once, then again. Her eyes glanced at her mobile. She picked it up again and pushed a number that she knew well.

Her fingers danced on the wooden table impatiently, as she waited for the mobile phone line to connect. It finally did. "Get me Mr. Moran, now."

If Blake was coming over tomorrow night. She would need the poison quickly. It was slow acting. He would think that he had the flue until it was too late.

* * *

_**Forty Hours Earlier **_

_**221 B Baker Street**_

Sherlock heard muffled voices. Lestrade and Mycroft were there. More voices. He now heard John. He was not happy about something. The target of his anger seemed to be Mycroft. He kept his eyes closed but could not help the sigh from escaping.

Voices suddenly hushed.

He may as well bite the proverbial bullet. He ventured to open his eyes.

He opened his eyes blinking slightly and then stared at the ceiling. "I don't suppose that last night was simply a dream from hell or a nightmare of some kind."

"Afraid not Lock."

Sherlock sighed again and then sat up. "Lock, is it?" Sherlock thought aloud, "… must be bad." He now looked at Mycroft whose usually expressionless face wore a frown.

"I see," Sherlock said to no one in particular.

He looked around at several faces staring at him silently. His attention was drawn to the chair. Someone removed his suit jacket. It hung wrinkled from the back of the dining room chair. His shoes were also removed during the night. He was still in his dress trousers and dress shirt.

He was usually a light sleeper and would wake at the slightest provocation. He had no idea why someone's considerate act of removing his jacket and shoes while he was asleep, left him feeling vulnerable. He shuddered before he could stop it.

He swallowed hard as he rebuked himself for what he considered pure nonsense.

"You okay Sherlock?" John frowned as he walked near him now.

"I'm fine," Sherlock, said with a forced smile. The normally appealing smell of toast and coffee, mixed with tea, invaded Sherlock nose like a stench. Sherlock swallowed and wrinkled his nose. John noticed; his frown deepened.

Sherlock looked at each face. When he came to Mycroft, his eyes rested on him.

"I was able to delay the newspaper. It will come out tomorrow afternoon not this morning." Mycroft hesitated. "Sherlock if my hands were not tied, so to speak, I could stop it all together." Mycroft pursed his lips, as he looked down at the floor with interest.

Sherlock looked at him, deducing. Mycroft allowed him to.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and stood stretching slightly. He was not used to some many hours of sleep at one time.

"I'm not ready for anyone to disappear or be erased from history Mycroft."

Lestrade frowned and pretended not to understand the implications of Mycroft's statements, and Sherlock's reply.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft started.

"No," Sherlock said tiredly. His mind wondered briefly, should he not feel more rested after so many hours of sleep?

Sherlock stopped suddenly then looked at their faces. "What else?" He asked suddenly nauseated. In the back of his mind, he noticed Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs.

"The media somehow got wind of this. There are just whispers now, but by this evening if not stopped, everything should come out."

"The audiotapes? Will they have the audiotapes?" Sherlock asked in what he hoped was a strong voice. He swallowed more now as the nausea built.

"We're not sure; I have someone looking into that now…"

John interrupted Mycroft. "Sherlock are you okay?" In seconds, John was by his side with a hand on his arm.

Sherlock's eyes widen. He did not think that it was a good idea to open his mouth. He felt John leave him. He looked toward the bathroom as he moved quickly in its direction. He made it as far as the doorway when his knees buckled. John caught him as the burning sensation traveled upward at alarming speed. He heard himself vomited up the little he had managed to consume. He clung tightly to the rubbish bin. He dry heaved now. Sherlock heard John as if far away, telling everyone to please give him privacy. He would have been grateful if he wasn't too distracted trying not to vomit up a lung.

Finally, it stopped.

He felt two pairs of hands lift him. He walked with wobbling legs as they deposited him on the closed loo. A hand gave him water. He rinsed and spit. After a moment's hesitation, he drank a little to get the burning sensation out of his throat. He was red with embarrassment. He stood, trying to regain some dignity as he washed the sweat from his face. He nodded a thank you to his brother and John.

They walked back to the living room. Him on legs that were still slightly wobbly. Both John and Mycroft looked at each other. Neither man commented on the fact that Sherlock held on to the wall as he walked.

"Sherlock, I can make all this go away. Just let me. Untie my hands."

"How exactly will you do that Mycroft?"

"Best not to ask any questions." Mycroft eyes were unreadable to all in the room, but, not to his brother.

"I see."

"No," Sherlock said softly.

"Sherlock Holmes you're being stubborn…"

"STOP!" Everyone in the room immediately froze and was still. "Stop it Mycroft," he said more quietly as he pulled his brother by the hand into the kitchen and closed the sliding doors.

Mycroft glared at his brother. A battle of wills took place, neither man willing to lose that battle. "I need you Mycroft," Sherlock dry wiped his face and exhaled in frustration. Mycroft's mouth was pulled into a grim line but he was quiet. Both brothers dropped their mask. Their faces were raw with emotions.

"I care," Sherlock could not finish but was quiet for a moment as he tried unsuccessfully to contain his emotions. He tried again.

"I care what you think. We argue, we fight. We near drive each other to madness. But, if one of us is in trouble, the other would die trying to help. I know that. Even at our worst, I've always known that."

Sherlock exhaled deeply again and paused briefly before taking the plunge into the deep forbidden waters of emotions.

"I care for you Mycroft." Sherlock whispered surrendering.

"Damn it! Prepare yourself Mycroft. I am about to commit the worst sin against absolute logic. But, the truth is," he took a deep breath, "I l...love you. And don't you dare force me to repeat it!" Mycroft opened his mouth to say something but was dismissed by Sherlock as he cut him off with a wave of one hand.

"I will not torture you by having you to verbally admit to the same. There's no need. I know you care for me, love me as well. You show your love with actions, not words." You always have. I don't need to hear words that I already know in my… my heart I suppose. At least John tries to convince me that I have one."

Mycroft confirmed with his eyes his love for his brother, although his lips remained silent.

"Everyone thinks I'm so bloody strong. They're right, usually I am," he smirked. "I'm not right now," he said embarrassed but determine to finish before he lost courage. "I need you beside me. Don't doubt me, I'm doubting myself enough right now."

"I won't give in to Moriarty, his monkey or his demand, to that idiot Anderson, or to Riley. I won't lose that part of myself." He spoke more quietly now. "I've lost too much already." Sherlock now looked at his brother and told him with his eyes that it was his turn to speak.

"Sherlock, the media will tear you apart. You have not exactly been diplomatic in your encounters over the last few weeks. What about your consultant business. There are irreparable ripples that will affect your life. Once this door is allowed to open, it cannot be closed. Not even by me." He walked closer to his little brother. "I can take care of Moriarty. I just need a little more time." He took one more step invading Sherlock's personal space. "As far as the rest of those idiots, just say the word. One word… One look, I'll know."

Sherlock smiled without humor. "Moriarty is a genius, he is rather difficult to find."

Mycroft raised an annoyed eyebrow. "We're both geniuses as well."

"We both have lines that we will not cross, he does not. At least, there is only one line that I have discovered with him."

"Sherlock, I could…"

"No Mycroft," Sherlock said firmly.

"You're making a mistake," Mycroft said simply, gravely.

"My life. My mistake."

The brothers looked in each others' eyes again and an entire conversation took place. A silent battle of wills was fought. Mycroft was the first to look down. Sherlock inhaled deeply with relief.

"What now…, " Mycroft had a grim look on his face, "might I ask?"

Sherlock thought for a few seconds. "Can you delay the media coming out with the story?"

Sherlock frowned and clarified, "That is, without anyone disappearing, getting into a mysterious accident, or having their lives somehow erased."

"You're very specific." Mycroft noticed.

"I know who I am talking too," Sherlock folded his arms waiting.

Mycroft was impressed, "A very intelligent move, little brother." He thought. "Under those conditions, only forty-eight hours, maybe a little more."

Sherlock gave a slight nod. "I will not need that long. I am quite ready to end this nightmare."

Mycroft took out his mobile and made a call. He gave an authentication code, and then said one word. "Abort." He calmly disconnected the mobile call.

When he noticed Sherlock's folded arms and raised eyebrows he simply shrugged and said. "Old habits die a slow and painful death."

Sherlock shook his head and ghosted a smile. Mycroft half smiled in response. Both smiles left.

Sherlock cleared his throat, "By the way, if you ever mention that I used the word love and your name in the same sentence; Anthea will get that love letter that you hid on your computer, along with the picture of you in your full glory except for your red silk pants. I would consider it my duty to help young love along."

"I never wrote a love letter," Mycroft said with rare confusion.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows higher.

"She'll never believe it was from me." Mycroft said with growing annoyance and apprehension. "And where would you get a picture of me in only my pants?"

Sherlock folded his arms in a dare.

Mycroft rolled his eyes in defeat, before spitting out through gritted teeth. "Agreed."

A few seconds past as the brother stared at each other. Mycroft's annoyance melted away into pride. His brother was clever. He had no doubt that the twit would do exactly as he had said. He shook his head as a slight smile graced his face. His brother was simultaneously the most annoying and the most interesting thing in his life.

Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder. "What now?" He asked.

"Let's go outside and discuss it with everyone. It will save them the trouble of trying to listen at the door." Sherlock said a little louder.

Mycroft looked at the sliding door to the kitchen as suddenly muffled feet were heard outside. Mycroft raised his eyebrows.


	173. Chapter 173

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 173

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

A/N: Hi everyone. After today there will be four more post, and then, an epilogue. I have decided it would be fun to title these last posts.

1 It Begins.

2. **Feed the Fire. (This week's post.)**

3. Burn Baby Burn.

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate [situations]. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part II…_**"Attack or Defend… Feed the Fire**_.

* * *

"_**No risk attends the meed that silence brings."**_ Augustus Caesar

* * *

_**Thirty-eight Hours Earlier**_

_**Airflight, Unknown Location  
**_

He saw him as he walked toward him, but said nothing.

Sebastian Moran's that down next to his boss. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, before clicking on his seatbelts. The sky was darkened. The airplane slid in and out of the angry gray clouds. A sudden bump of the aircraft caused everyone to lift then lower in their seats. The few unfortunate persons who were walking around, stumbled, and held onto the seats in the private, luxury, aircraft.

Moran notice Moriarty out of the corner of his eye. Moriarty had both hands firmly clasped on his seats. Moran pretended not to notice as he looked down at his shoes and waited. Eventually, he closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he heard the Consultant Criminal's voice.

"Do you have good news for me Seb," Moriarty asked. His voice was a little higher pitched than normal.

"Yes Mr. Moriarty." Sebastian turned to look at him fully now. "You once asked me what was in Dubai. We can answer that for you now, Sir."

Moran put on a slick smile. "We have located Adler. She seems to be going back and forth from that one location. We have taken steps to abduct her. But, she has always slipped past us. She was too well protected. The best opportunity will be in several days. Our sources say that she should be leaving in ten days. An older woman is there with her, two of her employees, a man, a woman, and their child. Also, an agent seems to be with them as well. It should not be difficult to get them in ten days when they travel."

Moran now, for the first time, noticed how Moriarty seem to be paying attention and deep in thought. He had taken off his sunglasses. "Since when does Irene travel with employees who have children…"

A thought into Jim's mind. It started as small suspicion, and quickly blossomed into an idea, an idea that would not be quieted.

"Describe this child to me," Moriarty said with as much of an even voice tone as he could.

A slight frown came to a Moran's face. "We only have one picture of the child. He was seen when he first entered the villa. He was seen with the older lady, playing. They were outside for only five minutes, before a younger man escorted them inside again." As Moran was speaking, his fingers flew across his smart phone. Within two minutes, he pulled up a picture. When Moran saw the picture, his mouth opened. He wordlessly gave his phone to his boss.

Moriarty was still for a minute as he stared at the image on the phone. The old woman could not be seen clearly, however, the camera seemed to have focus on the younger child. The younger smiling child. That dark curly hair, and the eyes, those incredible eyes. He had inherited his father's eyes.

Jim's eyes darted manically about as his mouth hung partially open. His eyes came to rest on the phone screen again. An odd sort of the sound burst out of his mouth. He alternated between manic laughter, and childlike giggles.

"Damn," he whispered slowly. "It's the quiet ones that surprised you," he whispered again.

Moriarty suddenly sat up straight. Even the slight turbulence of the airplane, escaped his attention. He pulled out the phone that was attached to the wall and spoke into the phone. "Change of location," he said quietly. "Dubai." He hung up the phone.

Moriarty smiled at Moran. Moran smiled back suddenly cheerful. "Bring me some champagne Seb. I feel like celebrating." Jim had a toothy grin on his face.

* * *

_**Thirty-eight Hours Earlier**_

_**221 B Baker Street**_

The brothers sat across from each other. Sherlock tried to pretend that he did not notice Mycroft looking at him. No, not looking at him, Mycroft never simply looked at anyone. He was assessing him, evaluating him, deducing him. It was annoying.

Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft I'm fine. You're being more irritating than usual. And that's saying quite a lot. I don't need to be mollycoddled."

Mycroft sighed. His only acknowledgment was a slight, and graceful, tilt of the head. "Everything will arrive for your memory treatments later. I hesitate given it to you. But unfortunately, dear brother, certain situations have become quite desperate. I am, however, still," Mycroft search for word, "concerned," is the word he settled on.

"No need for the treatments, I remember." Sherlock commented casually.

At Mycroft's questioning gaze, Sherlock commented further. "I remember everything including the last two months before I was kidnapped."

Mycroft could not hide his relief. After all that Sherlock had been through, he was not looking forward to three days of his brother undergoing more painful treatments, mind manipulations, or intravenous drug therapy.

"What country did you hide the computer file in. We need it immediately. It is critical to decoding the information that you've already given us." Mycroft asked as he pulled out his mobile and started texting Anthea to prepare the plane.

"England." A self-satisfied smile found its way to Sherlock's face. "I need to go to the manor."

Mycroft stopped texting instantly. A part of him was proud of his brother's cleverness. Another part was quite annoyed beyond belief. "You mean to tell me that I was searching the world, and it was here the entire time? Right under my nose, so to speak?"

"Yes," Sherlock smirked. "I quite enjoyed the idea of it."

Sherlock scolded. "Really Mycroft! With your superior mind, you should have known that I would have done something unexpected." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I left you several clues."

Mycroft simply raised an eyebrow as well. "I have been a tad bit busy, brother dear."

Sherlock conceded with a slight nod of his head.

"Where is it," Mycroft asked curiously.

"You'll find it in the manor. There is a panel behind the plasterboard." Sherlock's smile widened. "In my bedroom."

Sherlock started to move toward the door. Mycroft's long legs kept up with his stride, easily. Sherlock could not resist adding as he pulled on his overcoat, "That was your biggest clue Mycroft. You know how much I… Dislike my childhood bedroom. Why would I suddenly start sleeping in it when I visited?" Sherlock chuckled as he took the stairs quickly. His feet tapping in rhythm on the wooden floor as he descended. "And really Mycroft, did you think that I suddenly wanted to redecorate my old room, and put up new walls?"

Sherlock was enjoying the fact that he had so completely fooled his brother. Mycroft simply rolled his eyes. He bit his inner cheek, to keep from commenting, and remained silent.

Both brothers easily slid into the back seat of the Mercedes-Benz. The doors slammed hurriedly. After sending a quick text to John, Sherlock laid back his head on the leather car seat. His face turned toward the window, but he paid the images which past quickly no attention. He was deep in thought.

"What now," Mycroft said quietly, while looking at his Smartphone with burning intensity. His fingers did not slow down movement.

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft before shifting his reclined head and closing his eyes. "I think I know how to predict three possible locations that he might be at today. The list that I will give you has the names of several of his employees. Maybe persuade one," he corrected his thinking, this was his brother, "maybe all of them to cooperate. I also have several locations of property that he owns, that you are probably unaware of."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows impressed. "And they say Christmas only comes once a year."

Sherlock opened one eye and peered at his brother oddly, before closing it again.

"He is trying to distract me. Let's use his obsession against him." Sherlock paused thinking. "Use me as a distraction to him. Take the smug bastard down, Mycroft."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He was about to lecture his little brother on the need to not use profanity. He had noticed him uncharacteristically cursing several time in the last few days. He smiled instead and said. "One smug bastard it is."

"By the way, the audiotape was recovered and I personally destroyed it, along with the videotape." He frowned. "However, the rumors were already out."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft with a rare display of gratitude. He suddenly frowned.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "No one was harmed."

Sherlock deduced his brother and raised an eyebrow, staring.

"No one was harmed... permanently," Mycroft clarified without apology.

Sherlock closed his eyes, satisfied.

Mycroft returned his full attention to his mobile phone screen, as he sent texts back and forth. A warm silence settled between the two brothers. The motor car turned quickly, gaining speed, as it sped through the streets of London, and headed for the Highway.

* * *

_**Thirty Hours Earlier**_

_**Just Outside of 221 B Baker Street**_

He blinked.

Short bursts of lights exploded in his eyes. He had Mycroft called the press conference. If information was going to come out, it was going to come out on his terms. He would not have someone take control of his life. It was also a proper distraction, while Mycroft did what Mycroft did best. At least that is what he had told himself for the past hour.

He walked up to the microphone. He had expected a turnout, but perhaps, not quite so many. He had been in front of news cameras many times before. Today was no different.

The burst of lights from news cameras, continued to flicker. Sherlock stood with 221B as his background.

Well dress television personalities stood with their cameramen beside them. Their practiced faces turned toward the cameras. Most had not heard the rumor. He had been careful to call the conference before the rumors could spread further.

A glare from the setting sun reflected off of one of the cameras, and momentarily blinded Sherlock's eyes, before it quickly diminished, as the cameramen adjusted his instruments.

Everyone was up in John and Sherlock's flat. Earlier, he had told them that he wanted to do this alone. He had been the one who had stressed that point, hadn't he? He did not regret it. That is what he told himself now.

Sherlock's eyes shifted. He noticed Kitty Riley in the background.

Riley's face was contorted with conflicting emotions. Holmes had surprised her by calling the conference. Ruining her story. She pouted in the background. The audiotape had disappeared. This was supposed to have been her story. Instead, she was in the background like an ordinary reporter. She comforted herself with the fact, that she was finally doing what she's tried to do for years, humiliate him.

Sherlock's eyes shifted away. He was sure Moriarty was watching with interest, and curiosity.

He sighed quietly.

Sherlock's eyes turned away and looked at the black microphone in front of him. Several pairs of eyes were glancing at each other. They were starting to look at him oddly. Sherlock wondered how long he had been standing in front of them silently. He supposed that he really should have been saying something. He was the one to call the press conference after all, wasn't he.

He glanced at the setting sun. The sky was ablaze with golden- orange shafts of light, which framed the clouds. The beautiful display disappeared behind the walls of the buildings in front of him. London skies had grown slightly darker.

His eyes returned to the microphone. He should say something. He reminded himself of this fact for the second time. His body remained still, but his eyes traveled to the back of the crowd, and slightly to the left. He noticed a small knowing smirk on Riley's face. The pout had left. There was some quiet mumbling among the newspaper, and television reporters now.

The mumbling suddenly stopped. The flashing of the cameras started again in earnest. The camera operators' shoulders became rigid, as they pointed the cameras to the left of the Consultant Detective.

There were people coming out of the door of 221B. Without looking, he felt John beside him. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, even Mycroft who normally would never be found in front of any type of media, was there. Sherlock's phone vibrated. He partially pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the text message. He pushed it back into his pocket.

John stepped closer to Sherlock, but did not touch. He had to speak. He reminded himself for the third time now. He should know, he was keeping count.

Some of the news reporter were starting to look at each other curiously again. Sherlock heard John clear his throat subtly. He turned his head and looked at John. John gave a brief glance and a slight nod. Sherlock gained strength.

He took a deep breath and started to speak. His voice was surprisingly strong and steady "I'll take no questions, this will be brief. I'd like to present the facts…"

Everyone was glued to Sherlock's every word. No one noticed the tall man standing close to Sherlock. There was one other fact that no one noticed, it was a small fact, but an important one. No one noticed when Mycroft took out his mobile and texted one word. It was, "Hello."


	174. Chapter 174

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 174

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

A/N: Hi everyone. After today there will be four more post, and then, an epilogue. I have decided it would be fun to title these last posts.

1 It Begins.

2. **Feed the Fire. (This week's post.)**

3. Burn Baby Burn.

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate [situations]. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part II…_**"Attack or Defend… Feed the Fire**_.

* * *

"_**Well, remember what you said, because in a day or two, I'll have a witty and blistering retort! You'll be devastated THEN!**_"~ Calvin & Hobbes

* * *

_**Thirty Hours Earlier**_

_**Unknown Location **_

Moriarty ducked easily behind the wall with irritation. The news conference for Sherlock Holmes still played in the background on the telly, forgotten. He had been so distracted, he had not noticed until it was too late. Stupid mistake, he admitted to himself. He would never admit that small fact out loud, of course not. He looked at his mobile with impatience. It only had one word on it. He hissed as he slid it back into his pocket. It was no mystery who the message was from. The bullets flying his way, confirmed the fact.

He had not been shot at in many years.

He glanced around at the complete chaos. The chairs to his conference room were overturned. Papers were scattered on the floor. Worst of all, his computer was there. It had to be destroyed.

Before Moriarty could complete his thought, sparks shot from the computer, along with smoke, and the distinct ping sounds that resulted from metal hitting metal. It filled the space. It joined the chaos of the sounds of bullets flying, flesh being struck, men shouting commands, and from pain. The noises, and sounds, competed against each other to add to the chaos that was already present. Several bullets had hit the computer. He noticed Moran's outstretched hand and smiled.

Jim noticed several of his men grunt in pain then slump to the floor. Whether dead or unconscious, he did not care. He ran, picking up the gun from the fallen man, and fired back. An agent spun and fell. Moriarty's aim with bullets was as accurate as his talent with knives. The fact that he was shooting was tedious. He had not had to shoot anyone for years. Isn't that what he had paid gunmen for?

The idiots.

Moriarty fired twice. He heard a grunt of pain and smiled.

Jim heard several bullets as it whizzed by. He heard someone inhaled sharply, as his head snapped to his right. He ran until he was safely behind the opposite wall. Now he was sweating, how irritating. In the back of his mind, he noticed that he might have felt a burning sensation, but ignored it. It was unimportant at the moment. Moriarty's eyes glanced to his left. Moran was fighting his way toward him, with several of his men, firing. Moran was ignoring the bullets that were directed at him, his one goal was getting to Jim.

Moran looked at Jim with steel in his eyes. Moriarty nodded his understanding.

Moriarty ran toward Sebastian. Within minutes, two assigned man were holding back the agents. Moriarty's men who were left would be killed or captured soon. No one acknowledged this verbally. Those who were left, retreated through a disguised door, which exited half a kilometer outside the building. The men jogged to safely. Moriarty easily kept up the pace.

Twenty minutes later, they were driving.

"Find out who betrayed me. I would normally torture them slowly over the course of three days, but there's no time. So this is what I want you to do for me Seb. When you find out who it is, wait to kill them. First, kill their family, their friends, their neighbors, any primary school teachers they liked. Kill their dog. Kill their cat. And if the cat didn't eat their goldfish, killed the goldfish too." Moriarty turned to look at Sebastian. "I'm sure you know what to do after that."

Moran raised an eyebrow. "Basically, kill everything, and after they've grieved, kill them as well."

"You do know me well, don't you Seb." Moriarty shifted his body as he raised his arm and placed it on the armrest.

Sebastian looked at the man he practically worshiped with concern "Sir, are you shot?"

Moriarty rolled his eyes irritably, He looked at his arm which had a small amount of blood on it. His suit was torn. That explained the stinging sensation on his right arm. It was a good thing that he was left-handed. He glanced down. It was only a flesh wound; small amounts of dried blood was on his suit. It was barely even bleeding anymore. He was unhappy, but not about the wound.

"I loved this suit." Moriarty sighed.

"Yes Sir. I know Sir," Sebastian said sympathetically. He handed a sterile dressing to Moriarty, who applied it over the wound and pressed.

"Choose one of the backup locations." Moriarty said needlessly. They were already on their way. Moran, if nothing else, was efficient.

"Yes Sir," Moran said quietly.

"Well, someone's got a bee up their arse." Moriarty commented as he pulled out his mobile, and started to text.

Sebastian Moran wisely remained quiet.

* * *

_**Twenty-five Hours Earlier**_

_**221 B Baker Street**_

Sherlock was in bed with his eyes closed. He did not bother to take his dress shirt or trousers off. Only his shoes and jacket. He felt his bed dip but did not bother to become alarmed. He felt hands rest on top of his head.

"You should not be here, it's not safe," Sherlock said with a sigh.

"Your text was odd." Adler said softly. "I'm sorry, I came as soon as I could." There was quiet for a few moments.

"Mycroft's men do not know that you are gone." Sherlock did not ask a question, he made a statement.

He opened his eyes for the first time and looked at Irene with a smirk. "You do realize that I have a front door."

"What's the fun in that love?" Irene asked just as quickly. She looked at him in the low light. The full moon illuminated half of the room creating lines of darkness and shadows. "You're worried," she said.

He looked back at her, "So are you," he informed her as he studied her in the dim light.

"You're worried about me but there is something else. It concerns me though." Sherlock eyes almost seemed to pierce into her despite the darkness. Irene turned away under the scrutiny then back again.

"Don't deduce me Mr. Holmes, I will tell you. I promise but right now there are other things that you need to concentrate on, isn't there."

"I cannot turn my mind on and off, or my deductions. Trust me, I've tried as a child, it did not work. Nevertheless, I will try." He attempted a smile.

"You need to sleep."

"You know that I do not sleep well on the best of days."

"Yes but this is different even for you, there are bags under your eyes."

"How could you possibly know that, it's dark." He challenged.

"I have eyes like a cat. Besides, I could tell by your voice." Irene took off her shoes then sat on the bed and laid down beside him. Sherlock contorted his head as he followed her shadow. "Raise your head Sherlock."

"I am not a teddy bear Ms. Adler."

"Rise up," she said more firmly with a hint of exasperation.

Sherlock raised his head as Irene moved her body next to his. "Lay your head down."

"Any other orders," Sherlock asked as he laid his head down on her chest.

John's voice was at his door. "Sherlock are you okay, I heard you talking."

"It's me John, come in," Irene said. It was Sherlock's turn to raise an eyebrow. With anyone else Sherlock would have been embarrassed, but not with John. John opened the door after asking. "I'm not going to see things that I regret seeing, am I?"

"It's safe," Sherlock said slightly annoyed. John walked in and after a brief hesitation shrugged then sat on the side of his bed. Sherlock glanced at John but did not move his head from Irene's chest.

John asked after a moment of silence. "Irene don't you ever use the front door?" Irene only smiled at John.

"Should I move over John, Who else is coming? Mycroft?" Sherlock was fully annoyed now.

"Well, he did call me earlier," under John's breath he added, "Smart arse." Irene heard and giggled softly.

"I'll make sure that he gets to sleep tonight, John. You don't have to keep checking on him," Irene said suddenly serious, "you need to rest as well."

"Would you believe that I was up getting tea?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock snorted in reply. Irene said nothing but her lips corner rose.

"Well good night," John said. He looked at Sherlock briefly then squeezed his ankle. John kissed Irene and turned to leave. "Irene don't run off later, have one of Mycroft's men take you back."

"I can take care of myself," Irene said stubbornly. Both Sherlock and John looked at her without saying a word.

"Alright, I'll call before I leave. I can feel the both of you glare, even in the dark." Irene surrendered.

He kissed Irene again and turned to leave. "Where's my kiss John." Sherlock joked.

"Later Sherlock," John said as he walked and quietly opened the door, "As I said, smart arse." John smiled sweetly as he closed the door.

Sherlock chuckled for the first time now as he closed his eyes again. "You know, I still won't go to sleep." He said quietly.

"Of course not." Irene smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair soothingly.

* * *

Soft snoring came from Sherlock half an hour later. Irene looked concerned. Sherlock only snored when he was exhausted and had not slept properly, if at all, for days.

She disregarded the fact that she would wrinkle her Challis cloth dress. She lay with her face firmly pressed against his back. She pressed her body to his. She wrapped one arm around his body. The other hand lay gently on top of his hand. His body, even in sleep, moved toward her. He mumbled incoherently, as he pressed more firmly against her, and then stilled.

Emotions coiled tightly within her chest. She ignored the contraction of emotions. She kissed his head and finally closed her eyes. Within minutes, she was also asleep.

* * *

_**Twenty-five Hours Earlier**_

_**221 B Baker Street**_

Sherlock woke in the morning. He blinked away the night, as he turned his body and stared at the ceiling. He stayed in that position for a few minutes. Sherlock generally disliked sleep. He thought that it was a waste of time that he could be doing important things instead of sleeping. However, he had to admit that he felt better physically, perhaps emotionally as well. He reluctantly, got up and after a stretch, stood. He walked over to the door and walked out to the kitchen table.

"John," Sherlock said.

John pushed a cup in Sherlock's direction. John, at the look on Sherlock's face said, "Mycroft's men picked her up."

Sherlock nodded and looked at his text messages. He sensed John watching him so he was careful not to smile as he read it.

"Tell her I said hello," Sherlock was texting back as John made the comment.

"How do you know that it's Irene? I receive a lot of texts." Sherlock commented curiously.

"You always try not to smile," John said with amusement as he took a sip of coffee.

Sherlock glanced at John with irritation but said nothing. "Let's hope that you pay this much attention with our next case. Lestrade will pick us up in an hour and a half." Sherlock looked at his wrinkled dress shirt and trouser.

"Sherlock you can't be serious?"

"Scotland Yard have been trying to solve it for three days," he smirked, "which means it will only take me an hour. Two the most."

John folded his arms, and pursed his lips together. He, however, did not say a word.

"Best if I keep busy. Think about it John, do you really want me irritable, bored, with ten thousand negative thoughts ricocheting around in my mind, confined to this flat?"

John still looked unconvinced.

Sherlock folded his arms before adding, "In this flat with only my experiments and you to entertain me," he added with a raised eyebrow, and a false smile.

"I'll be ready in ten minutes Sherlock." John practically jogged up toward his room, and his shower.

Sherlock mimicked his friend's actions, as he walked off quickly to take a shower.


	175. Chapter 175

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 175

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

A/N: Hi everyone. After today there will be four more post, and then, an epilogue. I have decided it would be fun to title these last posts.

1 It Begins.

2. **Feed the Fire. (This week's post.)**

3. Burn Baby Burn.

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate [situations]. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part II…_**"Attack or Defend… Feed the Fire**_.

* * *

"_**War is not nice**_." ~ Barbara Bush

* * *

_**Five Hours Earlier**_

The day had been a long one. It had been good for Sherlock to do something, normal. The taxicab turned the corner. They were making quick progress in the moderately busy streets. Both men looked at each other when Sherlock's mobile rang. One look at Sherlock's face as he read the caller ID, told John all he needed to know. John clinched his jaws together but said nothing.

Sherlock connected.

"Did you like my little early birthday gift." Moriarty's cheerful voice asked.

Sherlock's voice was flawless in its control. "Not particularly," At least, anyone that did not know him well would have thought it was controlled. John tried to keep his face neutral.

One could hear the smile in Jim Moriarty's voice. "What are you going to do about it? Write a written letter of protest?"

"I would like to wrap my hands around your neck again and squeeze. This time I would not let go." Sherlock's voice was cold and lacking in emotion. This fact made his statement more alarming. John looked at Sherlock frowning. He did not think that it was a good idea for Sherlock to talk to Moriarty. He also knew that he had little choice. This was the plan, to engage Moriarty, find a weakness. John's frown deepened.

Moriarty noticed gleefully. "Soooo scary. Such talk of violence. That's soooo out of character for you, love. If you're trying to chat me up Sherlock," there was a pause, "It's working. You'll have to use your imagination to supply my wiggling eyebrows."

There was a moment of silence. John's hand came on Sherlock's arm. They communicated wordlessly. Sherlock gave a slight nod and pushed the speaker feature on the mobile phone.

Sherlock turned his attention back. "Is there a point to this conversation, Jim?" He said coolly.

"I just wanted to say… Hello." There was something in Moriarty's voice that was troubling. A mocking, manic sort of glee. Sherlock resisted the urge to frown.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of the flat. Sherlock was fully concentrating on the mobile call. No one paid the cabby. Even John realized that he was one of Mycroft's men.

"Well, you've said hello. I suppose we can both get on with our day. I know that you must be exhausted from plotting murders, killings, and generally scheming to take over the world."

John continued to move quickly. Sherlock never noticed when John got out of the cab and ran over to open his car door, and then the door to the flat, so that the Consultant Detective would not be distracted.

There was a full deep rumble that seemed to come from deep inside the man. Sherlock's frown deepened. "I'm never too busy for you," Moriarty chuckled.

Sherlock took two steps at a time. John was slightly behind as he closed and locked the door. Mrs. Hudson was out for the day. Sherlock's coat hung on his body by one arm. When he entered his flat, he switched the mobile to the other hand, as he completed the task. He pulled off his coat completely.

"I'm thrilled," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"He has your eyes," Moriarty's voice suddenly became serious.

Sherlock stood walking abruptly. "What are you going on about?" Sherlock said evenly. John and Sherlock looked at each other. "Who has my eyes."

Moriarty was quiet for a moment. Sherlock did not say another word, but instead waited for a few minutes before speaking. "You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you." Moriarty inhaled a snort. "This is just too good."

"You do realize that you are more insane than normal this morning, Jim." Sherlock tried to insult the Consultant Criminal. He ignored the small nagging sensation that started at the base of his spine, and seemed to be spreading rapidly upward, as it numbed his body.

"I'm just happy," Moriarty said cheerfully.

Sherlock's voice was steady despite the frown. "You, and happy, is always a concern for me."

Moriarty chuckled. Sherlock was always entertaining. "You must know that the audiotape was only the beginning. Now that we've made a fire. Let's feed the flame."

Sherlock did not know what to say, so said nothing. He felt as if he was missing something important, something vital. As if he was a step behind. It was an uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation. He wondered if that was how most people felt when he spoke. He concentrated and pushed the thought away.

"Well, I must go. Give your brother two messages for me. He owes me a suit." He could hear the smile in Moriarty's voice. "Also, tell him… I know." Moriarty disconnected the mobile.

John and Sherlock stared at each other.

* * *

_**One Hour Earlier**_

_**Undisclosed Location**_

She had not even made it out the building. Two unpleasant looking men had surrounded her in the stairwell. The gun under their coat, had encouraged her to walk out of the university building quietly.

She glanced around. Her breathing was audible. She was not tied, however, the too large men on her left and on her right encouraged her not to move. She tightened then released her folded hands. Her index finger ran nervously over the knuckles of her other hand. Her face however, was cool, and undisturbed. She was happy about the fact that no one could feel the rapid thumping of her heart against her chest.

The click of a door turned her attention away from her inner turmoil. Two men entered. One walked to a corner and watched with a toothy smile. The other man came toward her. She watched him cautiously as he walked into the room. His eyes were dark. It was not the color that made them dark, she realized, it was what was behind his eyes. There was something empty and cold, and hungry. Those dark eyes were directed at her. She didn't notice that she bit her lips nervously. When she noticed, she stopped immediately.

"Your sons hid you well," he walked closer to her with barely a nod. A chair appeared in front of her. He sat down and crossed his legs in an elegant, unhurried sort of fashion. "Excuse me for staring. But, you're a bit of a surprise, aren't you." Moriarty looked at her up and down. She made it a point not to squirmed. She may have raised her chin slightly, she wasn't sure.

"You're Sherlock's mistake. Why did he protect you?" He leaned in closer. She thinned her lips, but did not say a word.

"Mummy dearest," Moriarty extended his hand toward hers. She looked at his hand in confusion for a second, before she cautiously extended her hand. He grabbed it and shook it once. Instead of letting go, he simply looked at her. He held her hand firmly, but not tightly in his.

"I've been educating your son on his true nature, Mummy. You don't mind if I call you Mummy, do you? We're practically family." A strange, out of place smile was on Moriarty's face. "You can call me Jim."

Miranda Holmes heard a strange sort of clinking sound from behind her and to the right. She turned her head in that direction, almost out of reflex. A man, a rather large and unpleasant looking man, pushed a wheeled table with instruments and knives on it. She stared at the knives. There were lots and lots of knives.

Her head snapped back to Moriarty. He was still holding her hand. But the smiled, odd as it were, had left.

"You knew what your husband was doing to Sherlock, didn't you." His hand squeezed her a little harder now. His eyes never left her face. His head turned slightly to the side, as he stared into her eyes.

"You're supposed to be some kind of genius yourself, aren't you. Is that where your sons get their extraordinary minds from? And yet you did nothing." Moriarty's hand squeezed even harder. Miranda thinned her lips, but did not say a word.

Moriarty was slightly surprised by Miranda's courage. Of course he would never say this out loud. He mused to himself about the fact that perhaps intelligence was not the only thing that Sherlock inherited from his mother. Of course, that changed nothing.

The tray was positioned beside Moriarty. His eyes flickered to hers, to the tray, then back to her again. He watched her as he gave one final, brutal squeeze, and then let go with a smile.

"I understand people like you, mothers like you, I had one of my own. She looked the other way while I was brutalized as a child. She looked away again as my older brother joined my father one day. Dear brother made daddy proud," he winked at her before picking up a knife, "She said nothing, did nothing. She would look in my eyes, and see my pain. Yet, she was too weak to do anything about it. I despise weak things."

Miranda looked at him strangely. She tried her best to make her face as blank as possible. She was not as skilled as her sons, but she was a Holmes.

"There were four bodies. I killed them all, you know. It was my first proper murder. My predatory brother, my bastard of a father, my weak, pathetic mother. Of course, I had to find a body that was approximately my height and weight. Everyone thought that it was an unfortunate car wreck. And that the car burst into flames afterward. How tragic, an entire family dying." Moriarty chuckled, "Idiots, the lot of them."

Moriarty smiled, "I had been a successful businessman at a very young age," he smiled proudly, "I seemed to have a talent for business. But it was booor…ing," he sang.

"My true talent was chaos. The day I murdered my… What is the word… Oh yes, family. That weak, young man that I was died that day as well. And I was born." One of Moriarty's hands came up dramatically in the air. He gave a slight bow of his head as he smiled.

Jim looked at his watch with a slightly bored expression. "Well, time to start the fun."

He took a knife and leaned it against his crossed legs. He said and did nothing for a few minutes. "Is there anything you want to do? This is usually when they start to sniffle, weep uncontrollably, faint, or beg for their lives. I can usually predict what a person's going to do. But," he looked at her curiously. "I must admit you're somewhat hard to read. Maybe I should call up Sherlock and let him hear this," he seemed to be thinking out loud rather than talking to someone in particular.

"I think the sounds of your screams will be quite liberating. He might think that he… loves you, but he doesn't, he's like me. We're not capable of love. People think that love is a good thing, but it is not, love is the most adherent force in the universe. It makes one weak. Of course, the ordinary imbeciles that walked back and forth without a clue, do not know this." His face seemed to snarl as sudden anger shown on it for the first time.

He pulled out his mobile. The knife stayed in his hand, however.

"Do what you like to me, Mr. Moriarty. But you leave my son out of this. You've tormented him enough. I'd rather die than have you used me to hurt him more." Even though there was fear there, Mrs. Holmes eyes held fire.

"Why do you care suddenly," Moriarty asked with true curiosity.

Miranda scoffed "I do care. I've always cared. I did not know about my son's abuse Mr. Moriarty. I have to live with that. With the fact that I failed an innocent child. My innocent child, every day of my life. I knew my husband was harsh, but I never knew the extent of it. Sherlock kept it well hidden. Even then he was trying to protect me. Imagine a son trying to protect his mother. Aren't mothers supposed to be the ones protecting their children?" Miranda's eyes glazed over as if she was no longer talking to the madman in front of her, she was confessing things that she had held inside for too long. It was doubtful that she even noticed him anymore.

Miranda's voice was soft. It was heavily layered with guilt. "The last two months I did suspect that my husband did more than…Discipline. I then thought carefully about the past. It was as if someone removed a dark veil from my eyes. I confronted my husband about it. Of course he denied it. I asked Sherlock as well in a delicate way, he denied it. I informed my husband that if I ever found out that he was physically abusing Sherlock, despite the fact that I loved him, and God help me, I did love him; I would leave him and take Sherlock. My older son was an independent, and busy young man. He came home very little, except to visit his brother."

Miranda frowned. "I spent the next two months trying to find a solicitor, who was brave enough to go against someone as powerful as my husband. I could find none. The Holmes family name was feared."

She shrugged. "In those days it was frowned upon when a woman tried to stand against her husband in any way socially or legally. A month later, my mother died. While I was away burying my mother, and settling her legal affairs, my oldest son call me and said that Sherlock had an, accident again, and he was in the hospital." Miranda bit her lips briefly and inhaled a shallow breath before continuing, "My husband was on assignment for the government. I was not supposed to know where he was, but as you pointed out," Miranda smiled sadly, "I'm a genius. At least in some things, Mr. Moriarty."

She looked at him again for the first time in minutes. "I told him that I knew what he was, what he had done. That he was not to come home anymore. And if he did I would contact the newspaper, inform his superiors, bring scandal to the family, do anything I could to humiliate him. That I would tear him apart with my bare hands if he touched my son again." She looked almost lost. "He looked at me strangely. As if he was ashamed for the first time since I've known him. He was not ashamed because of what I said, but ashamed because I knew. I saw the truth of who he was. My husband was dead within a week. They said it was an accident. But I knew the truth."

She looked at Jim Moriarty. Jim's face was strangely blank. He had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout, listening. "Are you seeking forgiveness Mrs. Holmes?" Surprisingly, his voice held no mock.

Miranda laughed bitterly "I neither need, nor want forgiveness, Mr. Moriarty. At least, not yours. I want something different. I want you to take out every evil fantasy you have on me. If you intend to torture me in some way. Then get on with it. I'm a Holmes after all. But leave. My. Son. Alone. He is not your plaything Mr. Moriarty. If you don't, I'll find a way to stop you." She paused. "I must admit, the entire stopping you part have not been entirely worked out yet, but don't underestimate a mother's determination."

Miranda looked into Moriarty's eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't protect my son. I think he needs to hear me say these words at least's once."

Jim Moriarty's face was a mixture of rare emotions. "Sorry?" He suddenly grabbed his knife, and pressed it firmly into her side, "Are you now?" He hissed angrily.

She didn't answer his question instead she looked at Moriarty. It was suddenly clear, realization came to her. The Consultant Criminal's facade seemed to break like shattering glass upon the ground. It broke apart revealing the hollow, fragmented soul of the man in front of her. She did not see the powerful man that everyone feared in front of her, but a broken little boy who was hiding in the corner, trembling with fear.

"I'm sorry no one protected you Mr. Moriarty. No child deserves that." Miranda ignored the sharp stick at her side, and the slight shaking of her body. She held up her chin proudly. She hoped that she would not faint or do something equally embarrassing.

She closed her eyes then. That's why she did not see the conflict in Jim's eyes. Something strange and long forgotten awoke inside of him. It was in some deep, dark, hidden place. Something moved in his chest. He had forgotten what to even call it.

Damn the woman, he thought with irritation.

Moriarty abruptly got up. The scrape of his chair against the concrete floor, as his body pushed it backwards, seemed to fill the room.

"I'll kill you later," he assured her. "Knives are too dull anyway. Excuse the pun. You deserve something more dramatic." He gave her what he hoped was an evil smile.

Jim walked toward the door.

He spoke when he was far enough away so that she could not hear him. "Prepared the jet. Move her in twenty-four hours to location number two." Moran frowned. "No one touches her by the way."

Moriarty suddenly turned to Moran and looked. "I have an assignment for you Seb. By the way, just to be clear, if anyone so much as forgets to put ice cubes in a glass of water that is given to her. I'll be angry. Very angry, in fact." Moriarty smiled dangerously.

Moran swallowed hard, and gave a nod.

"No one… Touches… Her… But me." Jim smiled now easily, "Make sure that everyone understands that Seb. I'm holding you personally responsible." Moriarty winked and started to move. Several assistants moved quickly with him as they look strangely at each other. Moran gave orders quickly. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. She looked just as confused as everyone else. Sebastian then jogged to catch up to Moriarty.

* * *

_**Current Day **_

_**Current Time**_

_**221 B Baker Street**_

Everyone was heading for Mrs. Hudson's flat. They would talk, while they ate. He would follow them shortly, but honestly, he felt that he needed a few minutes to himself. There was much on his mind.

Sherlock's mobile lit up on the kitchen table. It must've been accidentally left on the table earlier. Long slender fingers reached and picked it up. He put the kettle down, before he could refresh his cuppa.

His eyes narrowed when he read the message. He frowned. Men that did not know him, thought that he was fearless. And normally he was. However, even he did have a few fears. His eyes glanced down again, this was one of them.

His fingers quickly tapped on the keys of the Smartphone. He hit send. Within seconds, a response came.

His brother would be upset. Perhaps the word upset was putting it mildly, he admitted. But, it couldn't be helped, he looked at the mobile again. There was no choice. He turned his head, as he walked quietly. He glanced toward the door. He made up his mind.

His steps were almost cat like as he walked down the stairs. He avoided the seventh stair going down, which creaked.

He closed the door gently. By the time they realize that he was gone, they would not be able to stop him.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed.

**Optional fun question**: In cannon, The adventures of Sherlock Holmes, _His Last Bow__,_ what was the retired Sherlock Holmes' primary occupation/ hobby?

(Feel free to read or look it up on the internet, but let me know if you knew straight away. Have fun.)


	176. Chapter 176

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 176

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Coolness10123 (Thank you for the multiple reviews. More ahead, hang on.), Benfan (Thank you for the multiple comments. More hot and cold ahead.), Bookworm Gal (Here's more. Get a blanket and enjoy.), bruderlein (It is going to get a bit intense. Get some tea, my dear. Um, strong tea. ), Kitiara88 (Thank you for your lovely comments. More ahead. ), gemstone1234 (I agree. BBC made a Moriarty that one loves to hate. More Moriarty ahead. ), Puky2012 (Sorry about the image of red silk pants. Try to get it out of your mind.), madscientistsuz (You definitely win the most knowledge of bee award. Great job! ), socalrose (Thank you for the multiple might want to get tea, a blanket, and something fluffy to pet.), kassandwich (Correct. Thanks for participating. More ahead.), Prothoe (Thank you for the multiple reviews. Get the tea… a full kettle. A box of chocolate and a comfy, and thick shock blanket ;)), Bookworm45669 (Since your sister addicted you, at least she can give you a nice cuppa and cookies. ), RawrxSushi (I join you in the happy dance. It is never too late to answer, your name was added to the previous chapters.), Puky2012 (Thank you for the multiple reviews. Take a deep breath, my dear. And here-we-go.), sexypurpleshirt (More good, bad, and the ungly ahead. ), Voldermort ( Thanks. Good luck this week.), hijohn (Thank you for your words of encouragement, more conflict ahead.) To all guest and PMs, thanks.

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Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

Last week's fun question was: In cannon, The adventures of Sherlock Holmes, _His Last Bow,_ what was the retired Sherlock Holmes' primary occupation/ hobby?

Answer: Apiculture. The keeping of bees.

You know your cannon.

Note: Radionuclide Identification Device (RID) measures radiation.

**Congratulations:**Bookworm Gal, bruderlein, Kitiara88, gemstone1234, madscientistsuz, socalrose, Voldemort101, kassandwich, Bookworm45669, and Puky2012.

I am abuzz with amazement, and your level of knowledge. (I know that was bad. Please don't kill me for that comment.)

**A/N:** Hi everyone. We're on the third post. However, I ran into a little problem. I thought that the post was too big to give to you at one time. I didn't want to overwhelm. I broke it into three parts. Enjoy.

1 It Begins.

2. Feed the Fire.

3. **Burn Baby Burn. (This week's post.) **Part **A** today/ Part **B** Saturday/ Part **C** Monday**.**

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate situations. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part III …**_ "Attack or Defend… _****_Burn Baby Burn_**."

* * *

**_ "I want something good worth dying for, to make it beautiful to live." John M. Freeman_**

* * *

**_United States_**

**_Port of San Francisco Bay _**

**_Shipping Dock_**

**_Two Days Ago_**

The continual rows of stacked shipping crates seemed endless. The port inspector walked up to the new crates, with his thick stack of papers in hand. The man walked nervously beside him. He hoped that the darkness and shadows hid his apprehension.

"Is this everything that came in today?" The inspector asked.

"Yes it is. Of course." The man replied.

The inspector signed with a tired flourish. He tore off a copy and gave it to the man. There was nothing different about this. It had been done more times than he can count in the ten years that he had been in charge of the shipping dock.

The inspector turned to walk away but paused, and walked back. "Sam, this group of serial numbers were not signed off. Where is that crate?"

Sam Hilton smiled. "Oh, that crate was turned back. Here's the paperwork," Sam laughed sounding embarrassed, "I meant to tell you when you first came Bill, sorry"

Bill Wallace frowned for a minute. He looked at Sam. He had known the man for over seven years. He was one of the few men that had a spotless record. He would give Sam the benefit of the doubt.

"Be more careful Sam, or the next time I'll have to write you up for this." Bill said with a warning.

"Yeah – yeah. I will. I'm a little under the weather. I think I've got that flu bug that's going around."

Bill looks sympathetically at Sam, "I had the flu last month. It had me in bed for a good week." He smiled understandingly at Sam. "I'll see you in a few days."

Sam nodded and watched as the port inspector retreated. Sam's smile left suddenly.

Within half an hour, a truck was picking up one of the crates. Sam didn't bother to ask for signatures, or fill out official paperwork. No one was to know if its existence. He would make sure of this fact.

Sam watched as the men secure the crate, and prepared to leave. He caught the arm of the person he believed to be the leader. He knew nothing about the man, except that he had an accent. British, he thought.

"My daughter, when will I get her back? I've done as you've said Mister." Sam's voice was barely controlled.

The man looked at him with what he can only describe as loathing. He glanced at his arm, where he held. Sam blinked and immediately let go of the man's arm.

"Don't be troubled Mr. Hilton. You have done as we've said, exactly, in fact. You must be patient." Sebastian Moran smile was dark. "Don't worry I'll personally make sure that she is," he paused for a second, "given back to you, in a few pieces, I mean days, of course." His teeth seemed unnaturally white.

"Yes. Yes, of course," a worried father said. His only girl was barely twenty-four. She was the youngest of his three children. He would do whatever they said to make sure she was safe. He didn't care about himself.

Sebastian Moran's effortlessly climbed into the tall truck. They immediately drove away. He had to be back on the plane in a few hours. This was just one of several stops that he would have to make, before he returned to Moriarty.

* * *

**_221 B Baker Street_**

**_Current Day _**

He reclined quietly, as he sat at the kitchen table in Mrs. Hudson's flat. The midday meal and tea was delicious, however, a lot was on his mind. Mrs. Hudson and John were engulfed in the local gossip. He resisted the urge to shake his head. He half listened quietly. Anthea should be arriving in twenty minutes. At that time, they both would analyze the massive amounts of information that the USB storage drive had revealed.

He picked at his food out of politeness as he glanced at the door to the flat.

It had been forty-five minutes exactly since his brother went upstairs to 221B. He resisted the urge to check on him. His brother was a grown man after all. The moment he saw him today, he knew that a lot was on his mind. How could it not be? He also knew that his brother needed time alone to process the past few days, and to analyze the heavy responsibilities that were on him. He understood his brother, just as his brother understood him.

He sighed as he crossed his legs and picked up his teacup. He forced himself to take a sip.

Someone was at the door. By the force of the pressure applied to the doorbell, it was urgent. Mrs. Hudson smiled as she got up and walked toward the door.

"I'll get it, you both finish your meals," her voice floated back over her shoulders, as she ascended the stairs.

He did not notice that he stood at first; his body seemed to stand on its own accord. He noticed John's eyes, they were looking at him with an intensity. John had stood as well. They both seemed to simultaneously look toward the stairs that led up to 221B.

* * *

**_Dubai_**

**_Miranda Holmes Villa_**

**_Twelve Hours Earlier_**

Everything was still, on the quiet mountain road. The sun had set long ago. Men dressed in black moved quietly to the back of the building. Several guns had attached silencers. Even though the two villas were secluded, there were still a public road, which ran in front of the two buildings.

The tactical group was split into two. They had cut the external wires for the alarm, and picked the door locks.

She pushed in her earphone slowly, and gave the commands to move forward. The night binoculars were put on, as she slowly pushed the door open. She winced as the slight squeaking sound was noted.

With a quick flick of her fingers, and a whispered, "Go," into her microphone earpiece, they moved.

Their orders were simple. Capture Adler, capture the child, and kill everything else that moved.

They slowly made their way toward the bedrooms. They were to position themselves in front of the bedrooms, and wait for the order to fire. They were to start shooting simultaneously to avoid the occupants being resistant.

She smiled a satisfied smile. Blake was hers. She walked up to the room that was reported to be his. The newest, and youngest agent, had been easily persuaded to cooperate. She looked up and down the hall. She pushed her night goggles upward as she allowed her eyes to adjust. Her actions were mimicked by the men in the house. She then pushed her attached microphone, and whispered one word.

"Exterminate."

She loved saying that. Her smile broadened showing shadow of white teeth in the middle of the darkness. Up and down the hallway, flashes of light cast ghostly shadows upon the wall in the faces of the men who were firing. A moment was taken to enjoy the sight.

Her steps were quiet, as she walked up to Blake. Agent Thomas lay with his head toward the ceiling. The covers were pulled up to his chin. For a moment, something washed over her, she thought it was regret. Regret was never felt before, funny that. He was beautiful; too bad.

She put the safety on her gun, and put it on the floor, while quietly extracting the hunter's knife. The large, sharp blade, caught the gleaming nightlight for a split second, before a shift of her hand, caused it to disappear back into the darkness. She quietly went next to him. His hair had fallen over his face. The front was getting too long again. She knew how he hated that. She resisted the urge to push the strands out of his face. This was usually her favorite part; she wondered why she was hesitant. The unwanted feelings were pushed down deep, into a forgotten place in her soul. Her eyes became ice, all compassion fled from her.

She raised her hand above his stomach. Her hands did not aim for the chest or his heart. He would die slowly. A girl has got to have some fun.

Blake eyes open un-expectantly. The sound of struggling suddenly broke around them. He grabbed her hand mid thrust, and twisted the knife away. They both struggled, ignoring the clattering sound of metal, as it hit, skidded across the wooden floors, and then finally was swallowed up by the darkness. He grunted and twisted away with barely enough time to avoid a kick to the groin. She grunted panting; she was now the one on the bottom. He kneeled on top of her, restraining her arms and legs. The fight had ended. It was vicious and dramatic but short-lived.

"Abigail, was that a good morning or a good night?" Blake asked with a raised eyebrow.

She now noticed that he had a bullet proof vest. Her eyes traveled over him. He was not wearing pajamas. She looked into his eyes, surprised. Within a few minutes, a small group came into the room. Abigail was not surprised to notice that it was not her men, but agents. Lots of agents.

"How long have you known," Abigail asked evenly.

"You're rather good; it took me two hours to realize who you were. It usually doesn't take me that long." Agent Thomas spoke as he picked her up, led her to a chair, and roughly deposited her in it. Blake eyes shifted subtly. He held one finger to his earpiece, and seemed to listen to an unheard conversation.

"My men?" She asked.

Blake's eyes shifted back to Abigail. "Captured, except for four men who resisted," Blake looked her in the eyes, "but we have other things to discuss now, don't we."

An agent rushed into the room. One look at his face and Blake excused himself. "Sorry dear, I'll be just a moment." Blake walked quickly from the room. He spoke when he was just outside of the earshot of Abigail.

"Mrs. Holmes never made it to the airplane. She had convinced an agent to detour to the University. She said that she had forgotten something in her office." The agent hesitated. "No one has been able to reach her, or the agent."

Agent Blake Thomas looked grim "There's more."

"Irene Adler was attacked. Agent Myers' team was able to stop the attempted abduction. All but two of Moriarty's men were killed, however, there was one casualty on our side. William Holmes seems to be a target. The only reason that there was no attempt at abduction, was the fact that they thought that he was at the villa, Sir."

Agent Thomas took out his mobile and pushed the code to Miranda's phone as he ran out the door.

* * *

**_Dubai_**

**_Undisclosed Location _**

**_Half an Hour Earlier_**

Agent Thomas moved into the open space. The entire building had been emptied except for a few pieces of equipment. They were torture devices, but he noted the fact that there was no blood on any of them**_. _**This fact was a surprise and a relief.**_  
_**

Several agents walked around him as they spoke into their earpieces. Thomas noticed two chairs and a table in the middle of the room. The table had an ungodly number of varied, dull knives, which were lined neatly on top of it. The echo of his feet, as his dress shoes hit the concrete floor, seemed too loud in his ears. His steps slowed, and then stopped.

He had a stern look on his face as his left hand reached for the note. It was left on the chair with a brooch from Mrs. Holmes attached. The message was simple. It said, "BURN."

Agent Blake repressed the cursed that wanted to enter his mouth. He gritted his teeth together in irritation and anger. He stilled himself when he heard quick footsteps approaching him. He turned around as he squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to fight off a headache. He looked at the approaching agents immediately.

One of them spoke, "There's been an abduction Sir. It appears to be Mr. Holmes."

Thomas took a second to process the information before speaking. "Double the detailed protection for William Holmes and his mother. If they're not already underway, send protection to Baker Street. Check with the agents who were supposed to be in motorcars outside of 221B, make sure that they're still alive. Put Agent Pearson in charge until I get there. Take Molly Hooper into protective custody. And discreetly have our inside man follow the Detective Inspector. Have a detail of agents follow him, and stationed themselves outside of his home."

"Yes Sir," one agent said as he ran off.

Thomas turned to the other agent and said, "Get us on an airplane within the hour, and interrogate the prisoners. If they are resistant, motivate them." He ignored the odd look that the agent gave him.

"Yes Sir." The agent immediately started to bark orders before pulling out his mobile.

"One more thing, activate Holmes tracker. And expedite phase two. Mr. Moriarty will need a distraction, something dramatic enough for him to physically leave Mr. Holmes, and take some of his men with him. That will decrease the number of men guarding Mr. Holmes." Thomas ignored the agent now, as he pulled out his mobile and started making his own phone calls.

Thomas started to jog toward the door as he spoke on his mobile phone. "Mr. Patel, sorry to wake you but, I need you to do something for me."


	177. Chapter 177

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 177

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate situations. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part III …**_ "Attack or Defend… _****_Burn Baby Burn_**."

* * *

**_"Live every day like it's your last, because one day you'll be right." ~ Frank Sinatra._**

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Undisclosed Location**_

Holmes and Moriarty stared at each other. Neither one moved. Holmes had two cars and five agents surrounding him. Moriarty had twelve gunmen beside him. And that was what he could see.

It was an isolated area. There were two cars, which could be seen. The two black cars were parked in the opposite direction; the warehouse was only a few meters away.

"You weren't supposed to bring anyone with you." Moriarty said casually.

Mild impatience colored Holmes' voice. It contradicted his expressionless face. "Life's full of disappointments, isn't it?" There was a moment of silence.

"I'm here," was Holmes cool reply. "I will uphold my end of the bargain, I expect you to uphold yours."

"Do you really?" Moriarty asked unperturbed. "I'm afraid that I did not get that memo."

* * *

**_221B Baker Street_**

**_Current Day_**

Mrs. Hudson frantic voice floated down to Mrs. Hudson's flat. He immediately stood and ascended toward the door hurriedly. He heard John moving as well. A flood of man pushed their way through the door with urgency. John reached for his gun but a firm hand on his arm stopped him.

John looked at the open frown on the normally stoic man's face, before following his eyes upward.

He ignored the chaos and ran up the stairs taking them two at a time. "Where's Mycroft," he whispered to himself as he continued to scan the room. A cold chill came in gripped him.

His phone, where was his mobile phone, he wondered in thought. Sherlock ran over to the table. His mobile was missing, in this place was Mycroft's mobile. He grabbed it.

He heard footsteps behind him. He knew by the pattern that it was John.

"Is everything okay?" John asked. One look at the taller man's face, and he knew that something was wrong. Everyone had been on edge.

He said nothing. He walked around the room, taking everything in. He wouldn't just leave without saying something, Sherlock thought, unless… A horrible thought came to his mind. He remembered Moriarty's words to him, '_You must know that the audiotape was only the beginning. Now that we've made a fire. Let's feed the flame_.'

Several agents walked in. Four immediately ran up to 221B, several more ran into Mrs. Hudson apartment. One agent walked up to Sherlock and spoke rapidly. Sherlock recognized him. He was the agent that helped him when he was a hostage at the hospital. Sherlock recalled that Agent Pearson was his name.

He heard John's voice in the background. His voice was raised high in an effort to give himself and authoritative tone. Sherlock blocked it out. He blocked out Agent Pearson speech about his protection. His eyes glanced around 221B. Without listening to the rest of the agent's speech, he turned suddenly and walked quickly toward the kitchen table.

He heard an unfamiliar heavy gate. The person walked with authority. Without looking he asked, "Agent Pearson, where's Mycroft Holmes?"

"Sir I was told to protect you. And keep you out of harms way…"

Sherlock turned now to look as he spoke with a false calm, "I asked you a question Agent Pearson. I won't ask a second time."

Agent Pearson opened his mouth to recite protocol, but one look at the younger Holmes and he closed it. His limited experience with him told him one thing. If he didn't cooperate, but argued protocol with the man, and then procedures, he would disappear and try to find his brother on his own. Agent Pearson repressed a curse he wanted to express.

"It would appear that your brother have been abducted, Sir. I have agents who have gone to the drop-off location, however," there was a hesitation. "Mr. Holmes is no longer there."

He felt John before he saw him. The voices had grown quiet, all attention was on him. "Abducted? Are you insane," he laughed without humor, "this is Mycroft Holmes, no one can touch him. Don't you understand that?" Sherlock spit out through gritted teeth, as he started to pace. First slowly, then he picked up the pace as his movements became more animated. "This is ridiculous..., bonkers..., daft..."

When it came to Mycroft being hurt, it was amazing how outrageously vulnerable it made Sherlock feel. Muttering now joined his pacing. No one knew if he was muttering to himself, or to them.

"No one touches Mycroft… This is insane… No one…" He stopped suddenly. It was as if muddied water was purified. Everything became clear. He turned angry eyes toward Mycroft's phone, which he clutched in his hand more firmly, as he hissed, "If Moriarty doesn't kill you Myc, I will." He was too angry to see the hypocrisy of his own words.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Undisclosed Location**_

"You've been rather knotty. You do realize that you almost killed me," Moriarty said in a voice that fluctuated between amusement and irritation.

"It was a mistake," Mycroft said with a false smile, "the almost part, of course."

"Please," Moriarty said as he gestured elegantly toward the black sedan, which had materialized.

Holmes smiled falsely. "First things first, don't you think."

"You really haven't thought this out have you?" Moriarty smiled. It was long, but thin; his face became longer at the bottom. "I'm surprised at you. Disappointed is more accurate of a word." He spoke a little more quietly, as if they were having an intimate talk. "Was this an emotional decision? It's so rare when I see the Iceman melt."

"There's no need for insults," Mycroft interjected without expression.

Moriarty ignored Mycroft's comment, as he walked closer to Holmes, "What's to stop me from forcing you into this car, from disregarding everything I've said to you, every promise that was made to you." His smile became broader, "Two Holmes is better than one. Of course, three is better than two. But four, now that's a party!" He yelled with his arms widely spread .

He added thoughtfully with a slight giggle. "I do enjoy my Holmes."

Mycroft's eyes snapped to Moriarty's dark shiny orbs. The implication was clear. Did his plans go wrong? Did they have William? Was Moriarty bluffing? He forced the rare panic that threatened to rise down, violently. He had to think. He silently looked in the madman's eyes, thinking, deducing.

Moriarty knew of William's existence, lovely, he thought with irritation. But… He did not have him. Not yet. Mycroft would not give any additional information away. Mycroft made his face impassive. He played a role he had never played in his life. He played dumb. He pretended that the comment was not understood.

Jim's face suddenly took on a deadly serious expression. "Would you like to walk to the car, or would you like to be carried? My men easily outnumber yours despite your little toy guns."

"Please," Mycroft Holmes said with a rare chuckle.

Jim Moriarty looked at the elder Holmes with a rare intensity and pure concentration. He raised an eyebrow when the pieces came together. "Bomb?"

"Bomb is such a nasty word, don't you think. That's your area, not mine. I prefer the use of the word explosives." Mycroft Holmes walked the short distance until he and Moriarty were eye-to-eye. "Do you care to test my resolve Mr. Moriarty?"

Moriarty inclined his head slightly. Within minutes, a tall elegant woman was being led out of the warehouse. She looked a little disheveled. It took all of Mycroft's considerable skill, to remain stonefaced. His knuckles became white, as he squeezed his umbrella tightly to control his expression.

Moriarty seemed to follow his eyes to Miranda spruced face and smiled. "Oh, one of my men got a little carried away. Disobeyed my orders." He looked at Mycroft with a mock look of pity. "I'll turn him over to your men if you like," he put a hand thoughtfully to his chin, "of course you will need a rubbish bag, possibly two."

Mycroft's eyes traveled silently over Jim Moriarty's face, but he said nothing. His eyes shifted to the left.

Miranda Holmes walked carefully one hand slightly in front of her. She did not trust her footing due to her blindfolded eyes.

"Wait," Mycroft's voice said as she came within reach.

"Mycroft?" Miranda asked with relief and apprehension.

"Yes," he answered simply as his eyes traveled across her, deducing. There was a bruise on her jaw. Mycroft's jaw clenched when he saw the bruises in the shape of hand prints on her wrist as well as the face. She had been slapped, and grabbed rather hard. Still, all things considered, she looked surprisingly good.

"Is Sherlock safe?" She hesitated not wanting to give secrets away but having to ask, "Is everyone safe?"

Mycroft knew she meant William, his mother Irene, and Thomas. "Yes," He answered.

He nodded to his men, who took her from Moriarty's men. She stopped abruptly. A horrible thought entered her mind.

"Mycroft…" Miranda's words were cut off.

"I shan't be long," Mycroft said with a subtle tone that warned her to stop talking.

She closed her mouth and frowned. She raised her chin bravely, "I'll see you shortly dear." An unease settled inside her heart. She trusted Mycroft and his judgment, but the feeling would not go away. She allowed herself to be lead away.

Mycroft watched without expression as all the agents left and drove his mother away.

Moriarty said almost pleasantly. "You really shouldn't lie to your mother. That's what most people say, isn't it."

Mycroft ignored Moriarty. He continued to look as the cars drove away, until they were out of sight. He then turned to Moriarty. Moriarty looked at him. He continued to look at the Consultant Criminal, when the sounds of gravel filled his ears. A second of Moriarty's cars pulled up beside him. The vehicle rested a few yards away, at best.

He walked toward Moriarty's car with his umbrella. Moriarty put one hand slowly on the umbrella, "May I?" Jim asked as he took the umbrella away. He looked at Mycroft as he examined the umbrella. A click on the handle revealed a blade. He looked at Mycroft with raised eyebrows. "That doesn't actually work, does it?"

"With everyone but you, in fact," Mycroft said slowly with a false smile.

Moriarty walked until he was practically touching Moriarty and whispered, "I'm not most people, Mr. Holmes." His normal manic look left. An eerie calm took its place as he said, "Shall we begin?"

* * *

**_221B Baker Street_**

**_Current Day_**

Agent Pearson was trying to reason with the younger Holmes. It was not working at all.

Sherlock looked into Agent Pearson's eyes. "Let's come to an understanding. I will be accompanying you to rescue my brother," John cleared his throat, Sherlock's eyes shifted to John and back to Agent Pearson. "As well as Doctor Watson. We really don't have time for a disagreement." Sherlock laughed humorlessly, "And if you think that you can somehow stop me, I think that my reputation speaks for itself."

Agent Pearson looked unhappy.

"You can simply tell him that I escaped, and you had no choice but to pursue." Sherlock folded his arms defiantly.

"I see," Agent Pearson said evenly. "You do realize that we don't even have an idea of where he is, Sir." Sherlock ignored everyone, as his fingers flew across Mycroft's phone. Sherlock punched in the codes. He waited a few seconds before coordinates appeared.

Sherlock closed his eyes then opened them. "Under the arm," he whispered. Relief showed clearly. His smile betrayed his pride in his brother's cleverness, as well as his annoyance in his brother's craftiness. "How long does it take the tracker to activate?"

"Thirty minutes, Sir." The agent said quickly as he pulled out his cell phone. His second-in-command started to give orders.

"That's too long," Sherlock hissed irritably. "Ten minutes with Moriarty is too long." Sherlock started to pace.

John came up to Sherlock, "I know an analysts that was very good. He assisted us when you were kidnapped." Sherlock nodded. John ran off to talk to one of the agents.

The ring of Mycroft's mobile caught everyone's attention. The room suddenly became quiet. The loud ambient noise shifted into quiet, hushed whispers.

An agent clicked on a machine, and took up his mobile as he nodded at Sherlock with his head.

The mobile rang again. Sherlock connected.

"You've been rather busy," Sherlock said immediately knowing who it was. "

_"Quite." ____There was amusement in Moriarty's voice. "_By the way, don't bother to trace this. You'll only frustrate yourself."  


Sherlock's voice was cool and steady. It did not betray the racing of his heart. "Two questions. Where is he? What do you want?"

_"You. But guess who interfered. I wanted to play with you, but, big brother came in your place. I could not let the opportunity to have him pass. He's a rather difficult man to obtain. You understand don't you dear. It was quite a sentimental move on his part. I'm rather disappointed in the Iceman. As I said before..., Noble... Is... Boring!"_

Sherlock's voice broke the moment of silence. "What happens now?"

_"I get to feed the fire, my dear." There was a few more seconds of silence, as the sound of a car door slamming in the background was heard. "I'm afraid that I had unexpected business to take care of. But don't worry, I made sure that your brother was … comfortable before I left." Moriarty's voice took on a particularly evil tone. "I had a few things to say to your brother personally, before I left. I started with hello. When I get back, I'll end with – goodbye."_

"What do I need to do to get him back?" Sherlock interjected quickly, "Alive, of course, just to be clear."

_"Don't be so dramatic Sherlock. You'll get him back eventually. Personally, I didn't think of the alive part. But you might be able to convince me to give him back to you. Broken, of course." there was a giggle. "After all I gave you back Mummy Dearest, isn't that enough? Where's my thank you?"_

_Moriarty sighed dramatically. _

_"People nowadays just aren't as polite as they used to be." Moriarty's voice suddenly became all business._

Sherlock could not hide the loud exhaled breath that came unbidden from his mouth. John was by his side in a minute, his hand on his arm.

"If you hurt her. You will be taking an extended rest, and that's not a euphemism. I will kill you." Sherlock's voice had deepened with anger.

_ "I thought we discussed the do not be dramatic part already love. She's on her way to you. And before you get your knickers in a twist, she's unharmed, relatively." There was a moment of silence. "I won't promise the same thing about your brother, the lovely Mrs. Adler," he chuckled, "or anyone else that might be related to you, or, forgive the word, loved by you." he paused, "That includes that pet of yours. Tell him hello, by the way. Well, I'll be off." _

It was a moment of silence. Sherlock's mind unbidden, deduced the sounds. He concluded that Moriarty was entering an airplane.

_"Sherlock, Sherlock, I'm your only friend whether you know it or not. The people around you are lying to you, keeping secrets from you, ____the lot of them. _ They are not trustworthy, or worthy of you. You can feel it, can't you, my dear." Moriarty whispered so quietly it was barely audible, "Secrets, Secrets… Secrets"

Sherlock said nothing. His hands clenched the phone more firmly. He would not let Moriarty know, that he felt the truth in his words. It made the sting of those words more bitter.

Moriarty's voice became cold as ice. It was as if Sherlock could feel the lunatics breath on his cheek. Jim recited in an eerie, monotone cadence.

_"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,__  
__Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,_  
_King Mycroft's Horses and ________King Mycroft's_ men  
_Couldn't put Sherlock together again… burn."_

The line disconnected abruptly.

* * *

Sherlock blinked a few times. None of his thoughts were pleasant. He looked toward the agent who was trying to trace the call. He shook his head grimly once. Sherlock had not expected it to work. His eyes then shifted to John. The mobile phone was still in John's hand. He had been speaking quietly on his mobile to someone.

John studied his friend's face, without pausing his current conversation. He nodded at the look that Sherlock gave him, as he spoke into his mobile phone. "Mr. Patel. We need those coordinates," he looked into his best mate's eyes, "As soon as possible."

_"I was contacted by Agent Thomas earlier Doctor Watson. I will have the exact coordinates in five minutes. In the meantime, I can point you in the right direction, Sir." Kevin Patel's voice floated in._

Within a minute, Sherlock, John, and several agents ran out the door. They called for backup, but Agent Pearson knew Holmes the younger well enough to know that he would not wait. There was no time.

* * *

A/N: Part B Saturday. Part C on Monday. Fun question and acknowledgments then. Lots of Love.


	178. Chapter 178

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 178

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

Note: Radionuclide Identification Device (RID) measures radiation.

1 It Begins.

2. Feed the Fire.

3. **Burn Baby Burn. (This week's post.) **Part **A** today/ Part **B** Saturday/ Part **C** Monday or Tuesday**.**

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate situations. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part III …**_ "Attack or Defend… Burn Baby Burn_**."

**Part B**

* * *

_**In darkness of the night **  
** I spied him in a tree **  
** Sat I froze by the sight **  
** He was looking at me** _

Udiah, Witness to Yah

* * *

_**Undisclosed Location**_

_**Current Day**_

The agents had broken into small groups, as they moved through the building. The sounds of gunfire sporadically filled the space. A battle was taking place, as Moriarty's men engage agents, and agents fought for ground. Moriarty was nowhere to be seen.

Sherlock, John, and another agent had split from the group. While John and the agent were holding back several of Moriarty's men. Sherlock slipped away to look for his brother.

After a few minutes of searching, he came upon a moderately size room. Sherlock slowly entered with his gun drawn. He stared at the two men, who now had their guns trained on him. Mycroft looked on quietly, his face was unreadable.

Anger coursed through Sherlock when he saw his brother. He quickly pushed it down and made his face blank, and emotionless. The two guards that were on his left, and on his right stood nervously.

"Let him go," he said with an even voice. The gunfire seemed to be closer. "It's over, give yourselves up."

Sherlock glanced at his brother. He made instant observations and deductions. Mycroft Holmes sat, handcuffed to a chair. His face and clothing were disheveled. One side of his shirt was untucked and out. His suit lapel was ripped and two buttons were missing on his inner vest. His normally impeccable hair was out of place, and partially covered his eyes. His face was bruised and lower lips split. Dried trails of blood ran down his nose and the right side of his face, disappearing under his torn shirt collar.

The younger Holmes noticed the subtle shift in his brother's eyes

The slightest tightening of Sherlock's mouth indicated that he wanted his brother to not do, what he knew he was going to do.

Mycroft's eyes became wider.

Sherlock gave a subtle shift back, surrendering. The entire silent argument had taken only a few seconds, and was missed completely by both of Moriarty's men.

Within seconds, bodies were falling, and shots ringing out. In the end, one man was shot, the other one was unconscious, and Mycroft was laying still on his side. Sherlock ran to his brother's side. Mycroft shook his head and winced realizing, that shaking his head was unwise. His hands were on Mycroft head, as he checked his head and body for any serious injuries, or wounds.

"Fine, I'm fine Sherlock," Mycroft said in a voice that he had hoped was stronger.

Sherlock's only response was to grunt noncommittally. He left his brother for a few seconds, to search the two men. He hurriedly returned with keys. He was quickly released from the tight metal restraint.

Sherlock's expression was a mixture of relief and extreme irritation. "Mycroft Bartholomew Holmes, if we survive this, we're having a little chat."

Gunfire seemed to be getting even closer. Their eyes simultaneously snapped toward the sound. Without saying a word, there seem to be in unspoken agreement to hurry.

Mycroft spoke as he struggled to stand. "I had the entire event under control."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but did not say a word as he stared at his brother.

Mycroft looked in Sherlock's eyes, "It was not an idiotic thing to do, Sherlock." He answered his brother's silent accusations.

"Best to stay off that subject." Sherlock said as he raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

Mycroft tried to straighten his crooked tie out the best he could. His long fingers unsuccessfully tried to press the wrinkles from his torn shirt.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Even now, there was an elegance to the battered man. It was irritating.

"I put a tracker under the car seat. We should be able to at least's track their movements, while in England." Mycroft struggled to stand.

Sherlock's mouth opened in amusement and slight unbelief.

Mycroft noticed and was annoyed. "I did work in the field as an agent when younger you know."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow concerned as he gave his brother the chance to adjust his clothing before they ran. And, they would be running.

The remark seemed to leave the younger Holmes lips out of habit. "Your field experience was for training only. We both know that they were interested in putting you in a position of authority. They were interested in your formidable mind Mycroft. We both know that your former rugby days are long past."

Mycroft finally got upright, offended. "I still fence."

Sherlock said with sugary sweetness. "If any of Moriarty's men want to sword fight, I'm sure your skill with the blade will save us."

Mycroft gave an indignant huff, as he tried to take an independent step.

Sherlock bit his lips to hold back the two, no three comments that begged to be released. Instead, he said, "You might be dizzy. You'd better let me help you."

"Don't be ridicules Sherlock. I'm not helpless," Mycroft took a tentative step, "I can walk."

Sherlock rushed the short distance in a blink. He caught Mycroft in his arms before he could hit the floor.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft as he shook his head and blinked away the fog. "I can see that your okay."

They both looked at each other. They communicated their concern and care without saying a word. Sherlock looked away first. "Well, that's enough of that."

"Agreed," Mycroft, said as he allowed Sherlock to put his arm around his shoulder. Mycroft smiled a small smile, as he allowed Sherlock to lead the way out. "Sentiments make me itch."

Sherlock snickered then became quiet. Both men concentrated on moving, and looking for danger. He pretended not to notice, as his brother bit his lips from pain, and his ragged breathing increased.

"John is close by," Sherlock said as casually as he could under the circumstances. He bore most of his brother's weight. But, he did not complain. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than John and several men ran in their direction.

John looked displeased. Very displeased. "We'll discuss this later Sherlock," was his only comment. He did not know that his rushed words had mimicked Sherlock's earlier comment to his brother.

Everyone in the small group became silent, and solemn, paying attention to every sound and shadow of movement. They had a new goal, as a battle took place around them. It was to make it out.

Alive.

* * *

_**Undisclosed Location**_

_**Current Day**_

The British agent walked into the darkened room. He was dressed in all black, and had a black knit cap on his head. The powerful stoplight that was positioned just beyond the barb wired fence, sent shafts of light into the windows on the east side of the building. It had been just one, of thirty-two identical buildings on the compound. He had to be quick; the cut in the chain link fence would be discovered in another two hours, when the next patrol would take place.

He stepped carefully around, as he cautiously took in the sights. Someone had informed whoever was here. The building had been abandoned quickly. He bent down and picked up a large, black flexible wire. It was a centimeter thick. He put a broken section of the coiled wire into his backpack.

The British Agent turned to walk away, but stopped and frowned. In the corner, in the dark, something white shown. He walked over and picked up a piece of a torn document off the floor. He picked it up and frowned. He turned the mini torch on with a quick twist. He held it between his teeth as both hands pressed the crumpled paper straight. He angled the beam of light and read with squinted eyes. He raised his eyebrows. It would appear that the Russian informant was spot on.

The British Agent put the crumpled piece of paper in his backpack. He turned off the light beam with a quick twist at the base of the torch. He waited a few seconds for his eyes to readjust. With a rapid glance at his watch, he walked toward some scattered rubbish on the floor. He pulled a small, black device out of his thigh pocket. His thumb firmly pushed the on button, until there was a click.

The Agent took out a Radionuclide Identification Device to measure the radiation. He nodded grimly when the RID light lit up. A clicking noise sounded much too loudly in the small space.

The agent turned his head suddenly to the right. The sudden rush of sound caught his attention. He clicked the RID off and moved quickly through the opposite window.

The British Agent's breath fogged the cold night air. Shafts of light from the full moon cut through the forest. He altered his path first left, then right to avoid the small trees. His rhythm was steady, as he ran carefully toward the ocean. The sound of the waves as it crashed into the shore and rocks fill the air.

The beach was wide. His feet crunched rhythmically into the sand as he ran. The small jagged rocks demarcated the edge of the water. White foam kicked up into tiny whirlpool swells as the water came crashing in, it's only witness was the man, and the moon. He quickly pulled the camouflage covering from the small motorboat.

Within minutes, the coast was a darkened outline. The agent sailed toward the small red light, as he headed toward the large hidden water vessel.

* * *

_**221B**_

_**Current Day**_

Anthea glanced at the two men. Her eyes lingered longer than necessary on Mycroft as she exited the room. The normally composed woman openly frowned, as she noticed Mycroft's bruised face.

Mycroft Holmes sat composed in John's chair. He had showered and changed his clothes. Every hair was in place. His normal umbrella was resting against the small table's base, which was a short stretch away from him. If it was not for his bruised face and split lip, he would not seem as if he had been held captive just hours ago.

"Mummy, and Mrs. Adler, are alright?"

Mycroft placed his arms gently on his crossed legs. "Yes Sherlock. Mummy is on her way. Ms. Adler is slightly behind, timewise, she will be arriving soon. And before you ask, she will be staying with me at the manor with a protective detail. After she settles she will be over."

"You have someone following Lestrade, and Molly, she's safe?" Sherlock resumed his pacing.

"Yes Sherlock, and we took Mrs. Hudson into protective custody as you've requested." Mycroft answered the repeated questions patiently. His brother did not normally ask the same questions. He shifted slightly in the chair and winced before he remembered his brother's stare.

John and Sherlock looked at each other. Within minutes, John disappeared returning with two white pills. "These won't make you drowsy," John said with folded arms, as his glare joined Sherlock's glare.

Mycroft looked at both men, annoyed. He wordlessly held out both hands and dry swallowed the pills. He accepted the glass of water that John handed him. He pretended not to notice Sherlock's wordless communication with John.

John nodded once. "Well, I'll pop out. I'll join everyone in Mrs. Hudson's flat." Even though the door normally remained opened, John closed it on his way out.

"You need to go to the doctor. I can't believe that you are acting so uncooperative and reckless." Sherlock did not realize the hypocrisy of his own words. "Aren't you supposed to be _The Government behind the British Government_…"

Mycroft allowed his brother to continue to rant. He knew that he had been worried and frustrated, and did not know quite how to handle the emotions.

"Anthea should be back in about and hour. We have a lot to go over Sherlock. Aren't you the one who said that you suspected that Moriarty would do something dramatic, in forty-eight hours. Once he finds out about my escape, I'm sure his mood will not improve little brother." Mycroft looked seriously at Sherlock. "We both know that I have to keep moving. I have a meeting across the pond in," Mycroft looked at his pocketwatch, "less than fourteen hours."

He would have to allow an extra half an hour for a makeup artist to meet with him. He did not intend to meet with such important people, with bruises on his face. His brother's irritated voice came to him again.

"… I want Anthea with you, and Myers or Thomas. Pulled them off of whatever secret assignment you have them on." Mycroft opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short. "This is non negotiable Mycroft." Sherlock gave his most intimidating glare, and raised one eyebrow to stress his seriousness.

Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes again as he commented . With great effort, he put on a false smile, "Anthea and Myers," he said simply, before his resolve to be civil left him.

Sherlock wanted to argue more, but his brother's cooperation deflated his anger. At least some of it. He flopped onto the chair next to his brother and crossed his arms. His face contorted between anger, concerned, and irritation. He wrestled within himself for a moment before sighing dramatically. There was a moment of quiet.

Mycroft had thought that the drama was over. That's why he was surprised to hear his brother say quietly, yet with sincerity.

"As irritating as you are," there was a beat of silence, "I can't lose you Mycroft."

Mycroft turned toward his brother. Sherlock was not looking at him. His hands were playing with the edge of his dress shirt's sleeve. He seemed suddenly fascinated with the piece of cloth.

Mycroft exhaled so quietly it was barely audible. He looked away from his brother to the floor. He did not know why he suddenly missed his umbrella. He needed something to hold. He settled for running his hand along the edge of the chair. The slight friction as he ran his thumb back and forth was comforting in a strange way.

Mycroft wondered within himself for several seconds. His brother could deduce anyone. He could deduce the deepest secrets, even though he may not completely understand the emotional components. Yet, he had a blind spot. He could lack insight into how his actions affected those around him, and were close to him.

"Did you ever consider the fact, Sherlock, that I felt the same? That's why I did what I did. I had to get Mummy back, yet I would rather die than turn you over to that lunatic. There was… something in his voice. He's grown impatient Sherlock, Moriarty, I mean."

Mycroft looked intently at his umbrella. He needed something in his hands. He felt self-conscious in the way that he stretched his body, wincing. In the way that his right hand reached for his umbrella, in the way that it lingered as his fingers slid repeatedly over it smooth end. "He is determined to have you Sherlock. I'm determined to stop him."

"I can't lose you either, just for the record." Mycroft risked a glance at his brother. "We have to work together Sherlock. No more going off on your own."

At Sherlock's raised eyebrows, he added with a guilty smile, "Yes, I know that I'm a hypocrite. I've learned from the best." With that statement, he glared at his brother.

Sherlock gave a partial smile that he tried to hide. Mycroft tried to hide his smile as well. The brothers were not fooling each other, but it was their way.

Sherlock got up abruptly, "Tea?" He asked.

Mycroft nodded.

Sherlock got up and walked to the kitchen. He heard his brother's voice flowed from behind him. Mycroft gave him information, and generally spoke of new sets of information that he wanted him to investigate while he was gone. Sherlock listened, but did not stop his movements. He needed to keep busy, to move. Mycroft suddenly stopped speaking. After a second's hesitation, he made a simple statement.

"Sherlock, when I get back, I'd like to meet with you. Immediately."

Sherlock paused briefly before continuing his movements. The sound of the kettle, as it boiled, filled his ears now. It melted into a background noise, as he automatically walked toward it, the tray, and the teacups.

It was a simple enough statement. However, something in his brother's voice made him conclude, that whatever he had to say to him, was important, very important. His normal curiosity and impatience begged for attention. He denied himself. Although he would not admit it out loud, Mycroft had better timing than him. He would trust him; he had enough to concentrate on now. He put the teacups on the tray. He followed with the cream, and sugar.

As he walked back with the tray in hand, he wondered why the fact that he did trust him, was so difficult to express. He pushed the question aside for now, as he poured his brother tea.

Both brothers sat quietly deep in thought. If Sherlock was correct, within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, Moriarty would do something unpleasant to get the attention of the world. Worse, they only had a rough idea of where the events would take place. Mycroft also knew that within the same time, Sherlock's world would shake. He could not delay any longer. Jim Moriarty had forced his hand. Mycroft frowned. He hoped that his brother had the strength to stand.

Several footsteps were heard coming from behind, and down. It was one particular set that caught both brothers attention. Holmes noticed his brother standing out of the corner of his eyes. Sherlock's full attention seemed to be on the door. John's voice was heard downstairs. There was no panic in it, but only surprise. There was another familiar voice.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

Warm sunlight flowed into the room. Sebastian Moran smiled as he looked at the hotel windows. His tall, lean body walked toward the oversized glass panes, as if the sun drew his body to it. There was a satisfied tiredness that was soaked deep into his bones. Sebastian's fingers spread out as if in worship of the sun. His eyes darkened, they had malice behind them that was not well hidden.

He turned and walked away from the sun. It would be dark in a few hours. A sigh sounded in the luxurious room, as he sat in the overstuffed, striped wing-backed chair. Almost immediately, his mobile rang.

His eyebrow rose as long fingers firmly pressed the connect button. "Yes."

"_There have been some complications," the voice on the other end of the line said._

"Explained," Sebastian Moran hissed.

_"Mr. Holmes men engaged us Mr. Moran." The voice on the other end hesitated. _

Moran felt the profanity build inside him like steam in a kettle. He felt the curses on the tip of his tongue before he had even heard the rest of the conversation. Hesitation, when talking about a Holmes, has never ended well for him.

"What has happened?" He asked. Both irritation and apprehension wrestled in his mind with equal strength. He could not ignore the facts that his palms became sweaty, and perspiration gathered on his brow.

_The voice on the other end of the mobile phone finally continued._

"_Irene Adler escaped, along with the child," there was a bit of silence, "and, um, Sir; Mycroft Holmes is gone. A substantial amount of our men are dead or captured." The line became silent again, but the silence was pregnant with the need to be filled._

Sebastian disconnected without another word.

A voice from the doorway said, "Sir, the limousine has arrived."

Sebastian was still for a moment, thinking. His jaws clenched tightly. All of the preparation was in place. If he did not get Holmes one way, he would get him another.

He turned and walked toward the door, as he prepared to returned to Moriarty's side. He would have to remember to bring someone for Moriarty to shoot. He pulled out his mobile and dialed the phone number. It was answered on the first ring.

"Hello Sir. Everything, and everyone is in place. However, I regret to point out that there have been one or two," he sighed, "maybe three unexpected turn of events." He told Moriarty everything as they moved. Moran's men walked beside him as they approached the lift. A frown creased the corners of his mouth, as they entered the vertical transport. He held back the sigh, as his eyes locked on to the digitally displayed numbers in front of him. The slow decrease in numbers seemed to mock him.

Moran's eyes shifted away as he looked at his shoes, and listened. One eyebrow rose. He had never known the Consultant Criminal to use such profanity, and with such enthusiasm. His frown deepened.

Yes, Sebastian thought to himself, as the lift doors opened, he definitely needed to bring someone for his boss to shoot.

* * *

_**221B**_

_**Current Day**_

Mycroft's eyes followed her as she walked in. Several agents trailed behind her. Every eye in the room traveled to her. John Watson followed Mrs. Holmes up the stairs and looked at Mrs. Holmes. He noticed the fact that although his mother was supposed to be thought dead, John Watson did not look surprised. Mycroft glanced from one man to the other briefly, before returning his gaze to his mother. John and Sherlock seemed to not be able to keep anything from each other for very long.

Mycroft now stood, while remaining in place. The three stood close to each other, but without touching.

Miranda Holmes looked at Sherlock and smiled, before her eyes traveled to Mycroft. Although she had spoken to him, and was warned of his injuries, she still inhaled quietly when she saw him. She walked up to him and touched his face gently. His forehead was uncharacteristically moist and shiny, and fine beads of sweat were forming above his upper lip. She touched it with hesitant fingers. No comment was made on the fact that it felt slippery.

"You should be in the hospital," Miranda said. Her tone made it clear that she was not impressed with his bravado. She could tell that he was fighting, and hiding pain.

"I'm fine." Mycroft said.

Miranda said nothing; she simply raised an eyebrow.

"I have important matters to take care of immediately, but I'll have Doctor Watson look me over if I continue to have any… Discomfort." Mycroft offered.

"Doctor Watson will have a look now," Miranda countered.

"I'll turn myself over to Doctor Watson's capable hands in forty minutes." He raised his eyebrows with a slight smile. "Happy now, Mummy dearest?"

"Quite," she said simply.

He allowed her to examine him. She did not say a word but her eyes conveyed her concern. Once she was convinced that he was in no immediate danger, her eyes turned to her youngest son. He remained frozen in place, as if he was not convinced that she was not an apparition.

Sherlock watched the exchange silently.

She walked up to him smiling. "Hello dear," one hand came out and firmly held his arm as she added, "I'm here."

Sherlock blinked a few times and seemed to come to himself. His eyes traveled over her, deducing. It lingered on every bruise, and slight wrinkle, or tear in her clothing. After a minute, he cleared his throat before commenting in an unsteady voice, "Your hair is short."

"I thought I would try something new," the front of her hair was longer than the rest. A hand automatically moved a curly stray strand out of her eyes.

Sherlock looked thoughtfully, as his mouth transformed into a slight smile, "Very modern, I like it."

The two stared at each other for a second, before the distance was closed in a hug. The activity around them resumed. John smiled, lowered his head for a few seconds, and then walked down the stairs to join the other agents in Mrs. Hudson's flat.

Mycroft stood for a few minutes, looking.

Sherlock, after a few moments, caught eyes with his brother. His eyes held a rare display of respect, and gratitude.

Mycroft smiled with a graceful nod. While Mycroft moved, he was careful to hide his facial grimaces as the pain flared up. He steadied himself before moving to join the group that was gathered a short walk away.

He gave one last glance, as he left his mother and brother, before walking down the stairs. He held on to the wall as he descended. Mycroft had not noticed that his brother frowned, when he glanced at his retreating form. But then, Sherlock inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, as he allowed himself the rare moment of comfort. Everyone noticed that they did not seem as if they were in a hurry to part.


	179. Chapter 179

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 179

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

Note: Radionuclide Identification Device (RID) measures radiation.

1 It Begins.

2. Feed the Fire.

3. **Burn Baby Burn. (This week's post.) **Part **A** today/ Part **B** Saturday/ Part **C** Monday-Tuesday**.**

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate situations. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part III …**_ "Attack or Defend… Burn Baby Burn_**."

**Part B**

* * *

"**_We dance round in a ring and suppose, While the secret sits in the middle and knows_**" ~ Robert Frost

* * *

_**The United States of America**_

_**Undisclosed Location**_

_**Current Day**_

Soldiers with automatic weapons were standing at attention throughout the building. The man in the suit walked with a determined stride. Two armed men in suits walked beside him.

He glanced at his watch and quickened his stride.

Within a few minutes, they reached a huge, open space. There was an odd, rectangular glass room, located in the middle of the secure, undisclosed military facility. It was a short walk ahead now. They walked to the glass room. It was long, but not very wide. The armed escorts walked the man up to the door, but did not enter.

Mycroft watched, as a man was escorted into the room. The German representative had been the last to arrive. The clear glass became suddenly opaque when the door was closed. No one could see, or hear what was occurring in the room.

The only thing the room contained was one very long table. It filled the room. Twelve chairs were positioned on one side of the table, and twelve on the other. Silver colored microphones were positioned directly in front of each chair.

After the initial introductions were made, the representative from the United States spoke. "Most of you have traveled far, so let's get to the matter at hand. Four scientists are missing. They were killed when a private chartered airplane crashed off the coast of the Moneron Island. It was an unfortunate event for Russia."

"It was... reported that they were stationed in a secret laboratory on the Island." The speaker paused briefly, as he considered the best way to express his point. "It has come to our attention that what they were… experimenting with, and investigating have international consequences. What was an unfortunate event for Russia has turned into an unfortunate event for the world."

"I cannot confirm the existence of such a place." The Russian Representative blurted out a little too quickly.

"Yes. Well, the British Representative will take over from here, since it was he who requested this gathering." The United States representative walked quickly to his seat and sat. They were already behind schedule.

Mycroft was quiet. He looked at the table, his finger traced circles on the table for a few minutes. He waited for everyone to settle down.

"Everyone in this room is intelligent. There are four missing Russian scientist. And I do believe them to be missing, not dead. Doctor Petrov_, _and Doctor Ivanov are experts in detonators, boosters, and bursting charges. Doctor Tarasovis, is an expert in the casing of the explosives. And Doctor Alekseevis, a mathematician. He is an expert in the geometry of high explosives, and assisted in the design of warheads, including nuclear warheads." He smiled falsely, as he turned toward the Russian representative, and added before he could speak, "These facts are confirmed."

"It was _rumored_ that the experimental weaponry, which we named, were not just theoretical, and fully functional, but tested. And some of the technology might have been, shall we say, borrowed." Mycroft put a false smile on his face, "Of course, I am not implying that the Russian government had anything to do with their disappearance. I am saying that all insight into the experiments are necessary not only for the protection of your country, but the protection of us all."

The false smile left Mycroft's face. "One Jim Moriarty has come in possession of this technology. Again confirmed. It is the perfect recipe for disaster. Those of you, who know me, know that I am not one for emotional displays, or exaggerations. If we do not put our suspicions and dislikes aside, and work together; we will all find out, too late, that Jim Moriarty is no one to be underestimated, or ignored."

The Russian representative frowned. He wondered how the man in front of him could know so much, as he wrestled within himself as to whether to deny, or play along.

What he did not know, what he was not aware of, was that the man in front of him knew more than he thought he did. Because of Irene Adler, and her Russian informant, and the brilliance of his little brother, the British representative already knew ninety percent of what he was about to say. Still, there were a few critical pieces of information that were missing.

Mycroft sat back and elegantly crossed his long legs, as he rested his crossed fingers on his thigh. He looked intently at the Russian, saying nothing for a few seconds. Mycroft's normal diplomatic side sat down.

The one who was referred to as, _The British Government_, looked at the Russia representative. His eyes held fire. His smile was sharp, it could cut glass. "It's time to share all, don't you think?"

* * *

_**221B**_

_**Current Day**_

Anthea had just left less than forty minutes ago. She would be returning in four hours. Sherlock had noticed the exhaustion that was etched on both of their faces. Mycroft Anthea and several agents had literally flown from England, to America, and back to England again without rest. There was a double detail of agents that surrounded the flat, as well as a police car.

Sherlock sighed with irritation as his pacing increased in speed. He was missing something. Something important; there was no time. They had located several of Moriarty's little surprises. But he was not foolish enough to think that he had discovered the entire complicated man's plots. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and squeezed slightly before letting go. It was quiet now except for the slight tapping sound of Mycroft's fingers.

The younger Holmes gave his mind a rest, as he looked around. His brother looked tired. He frowned but decided not to comment. It would not be helpful.

Everyone was gone from 221B. There were agents who were working around-the-clock in government offices in Britain, and several countries around the world. Analysis, computer and military experts, as well as weapons experts, all worked to decode and decrypt Sherlock's files. They were stationed in Mrs. Hudson's flat. Mr. Patel had arrived, and was being picked up at the airport by an agent, and escorted to the government building, which contained Mycroft's main office. He was to shadow Thomas.

Sherlock's mind traveled to those who he considered his family, as he continued to move. He had personally spoken to everyone; in person, or by mobile. He noted that Molly's voice had appeared cheerful despite her circumstances. He marveled at the fact that he could have missed the courage that was contained within such a petite size person, whom he once thought to be a mouse. Now, he realized she had the heart of a lion.

Mrs. Hudson called just to make sure that he was eating. Lestrade refused protective custody, but chose to continue to work to protect England. His mother had refused protection, and was determined to remain. Adler was determined to remain by his side no matter the danger. He knew that she would. He would do the same. His brother should be laying in a hospital bed, instead he was flying around the world in an attempt to save it. His deep dark secret was that he was proud of his brother. Even his homeless network refused to lay low for five days as instructed. they were looking for anything unusual and reporting any leads to him.

And then there was John. Always by his side, through hell or high waters, he was steady and faithful. He was proud of his family. Of course he would never admit this out loud. He would never hear the end of it, if he ever verbalized such a sugary sweet, sentimental statement. Perhaps Mycroft was not the only one who was tired.

Mycroft sat quietly, as his tired eyes shifted between his computer, and his Smartphone screen. His only break had been to take and receive phone calls. John had given up two hours ago. He had surrendered to fatigue and made his way to bed. His mother was asleep downstairs. Mrs. Hudson had generously offered unlimited use of her flat, in her absence. Adler and Agent Myers would be arriving in a few hours. Agent Thomas and several men would be arriving an hour after that.

"Sit Sherlock, your constant motion is making me dizzy," Mycroft said with a rough voice.

Sherlock ignored him and continued to pace.

Mycroft listened as the muttering started again. He sighed to himself as he continued to work.

Sherlock entered his Mind Palace after he walked over to the window. He stilled his body, as his hand moved in small synchronized motions.

Time was lost to him. Sherlock blinked several times as he exited his mind. He looked around. He suddenly noticed that he did not hear Mycroft's fingers tapping anymore.

He turned around, as he wondered if Mycroft had left while he was in his Mind Palace. It was not like his brother to not indicate when he was leaving. He looked around the room until he came to his chair. His eyebrows rose. He walked away from his chair to the couch, but returned quickly. Within a few minutes, designer shoes were removed, and a blanket was placed carefully over the British Government. Mycroft did not even stir.

He examined Mycroft's face. His brother had washed off the makeup, which had been applied over the discolorations when he returned. Sherlock scrutinized both the face and the man. He deduced every act, which would have brought the bruises about. His jaws clinched with anger.

As he was about to turn, Sherlock noticed a strand of hair that fell in his brother's face. Sherlock's fingers brushed the strand back in place. And if his fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, he pretended not to notice.

He considered sleeping in the chair opposite his brother, but decided against it. Mycroft would be embarrassed when he realized that he was watching him all night. He would pretend to get up to get tea, but check on him instead. He eyed the chair once again before turning away and walking toward his bedroom. He considered the fact that he had never known Mycroft to fall asleep unless it was planned, or scheduled.

* * *

_**Three Hours Later  
**_

_**Current Day**_

John yawned as he walked down the stairs to get to Mrs. Hudson's flat. He looked at the clock frowning. Six forty-five in the morning. A ring from Mycroft had awaken him. He was curious. The pleasing aroma of fresh brewed coffee became stronger the closer he got to the door of 221A. It was opened. He entered, and followed his nose, as he walked the short distance to the kitchen. He assumed that Sherlock had been up most of the night; still he assumed that Sherlock would soon be awake and fully dressed.

John trudged toward the living room after pouring himself a cup of coffee.

John heard muffled sounds from the living room as he drew closer to the living area. It sounded as if a large group was talking quietly among themselves.

"Here we go," John commented to himself.

As he exited the hallway, he noticed several agents and Yarders including Donovan, in the adjoining room. They all seem to be talking in low and whispered tones. A few looked up briefly, but returned to their work quickly. Agent Thomas looked up and gave a quick nod which was returned by John. There was a thin framed, young man beside him who he had never seen before.

John's attention was immediately drawn away again. He paused for a moment as he saw Mary Myers in the corner. He could not help the smile that lit his face. She was on her mobile. She continued to talk but sent him a warm smile and a quick wink of the eye. He noticed a slight bruise on her jaw and sighed. She silently mouthed that she was okay. He nodded his understanding and smiled back. She returned her full attention to her conversation on her mobile. John resumed walking.

He locked eyes with Sally briefly without slowing his movements. She seemed to search his eyes with question for a few seconds before turning away. He noticed that Sally had a shocked look on her face. He frowned but continued to move. He wondered if something important had been discovered.

His hair was still damp. He ignored the drop of water that fell on the neck of his jumper, as he turned into the living room. Several bodies were scattered on the couch, and chairs around the dining room table, as well is chairs that appeared to have been brought in from the kitchen. Mycroft sat in one of those chairs as his eyes silently followed John.

John walked up to Mycroft and handed him two more pills. He had hoped to be more discreet, but, he was more interested in keeping him upright. Mycroft didn't argue but immediately took the pills. He downed them with a large sip of tea. His hand immediately returned to the tip of his umbrella. That was odd, John thought, Mycroft rarely holds the umbrella while he's inside with them, unless... Mycroft, was prepared for some sort of battle.

John frowned.

"Molly is on her way," Mrs. Hudson said before looking around and shutting her mouth, as if she has said something she should not have.

Curiosity now danced with apprehension in his mind.

Alert eyes traveled around the room. Mrs. Hudson had returned. Mrs. Holmes, Lestrade, and Irene were there. John greeted everyone quickly and gave Irene a hurried kiss. Irene seemed strangely quiet. This concerned him more. There was a man, and a woman with their child, who sat in the back of the room, on the couch. Something about the child caught his attention. He briefly wondered who they were, but his focus was on Mycroft at the moment.

John looked at Mycroft as he sat cross-legged. One hand rubbed back and forth on the chair, while the other held the umbrella, if anything, more firmly.

Mycroft's behavior even for Mycroft, was odd. Now that he thought about it, everyone was acting strangely. John did not know what to do, so he wrapped his free hand around the mug of coffee, and took another slow sip, as he looked around.

John's eyes came to rest again on the child. He was sleeping on the chest of the woman in the corner. He frowned without noticing that he took a few steps closer. He stopped and looked down as his mind shifted. An impossible thought came to his mind. He almost laughed out loud. It was ridiculous. It was…

He looked again, his eyes traveled over the sleeping child.

His head snapped back to the right. "Mycroft?"

John turned toward Irene and dumbly repeated her name as well. "Irene?" She silently nodded once.

Mycroft gestured with one hand toward the chair opposite himself. John sat quietly. He did not notice when his cup of coffee was taken to prevent it from spilling.

Mycroft said nothing for a few seconds. "Your reaction has been consistent with everyone else's."

"What would make him keep something like this from me?" John wondered out loud. "We tell each other everything, why this?" John suddenly looked into Mycroft's eyes. Mycroft confirmed his suspicions.

"Oh my God." John became quiet.

He looked around the room. John stood and walked over to the sleeping child. He glanced at the woman. She stood and handed the child over. John held the child in his arms protectively.

"What's his name?" He could not help running his fingers through the child's hair. The child shifted in sleep, and pulled his forgotten thumb back into his mouth.

"William," Mycroft answered. "William Boswell Holmes."

"He is named after my father," Mrs. Holmes spoke quietly, for the first time.

He felt Lestrade beside him. "He's a cute little fellow." Lestrade touched his head softly before removing his hand.

"He has to be told," John said quietly in an attempt not to wake the sleeping child. He noticed that everyone's eyes traveled to the entrance to the hallway. That is why he was not surprised.

"I have to be told about what John?" Sherlock asked curiously. He was fully dressed and held a cup of tea in his hand.

No one said a word. His brother stood slowly and said, "Sit Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at the child. He looked at the man and the woman in the corner, married, he noted to himself. They looked from one face to another. They were all hiding something. More specifically, they were hiding something from him.

Moriarty's words came back to him,** "**_You can feel it, can't you, my dear… Secrets, Secrets… Secrets"_

Sherlock realized that his mind was shielding him from something, he took another sip of tea slowly. The warm fragrant beverage slipped easily down his throat. Piercing eyes traveled around the room deducing.

It rested back on the child. His mouth opened as his eyes widened. Sherlock swallowed as his eyes darted back and forth, deducing and calculating, before coming to a conclusion.

Sherlock placed his tea on the table. His eyes traveled to the child before he found the floor. His eyes flickered rapidly between the child and the floor, as if he were trying to form a coherent thought. John looked at him wordlessly but remained quiet as he held the child.

"Sherlock," he heard Irene start to say.

Sherlock's body became rigid. He moved his eyes only to her. The look in his eyes was so primal that it caused her to close her mouth. She, however refused to look away from his eyes. "Is there anything that you want to tell me Ms. Adler?"

Irene remained quiet. Everyone in the room eyes traveled between the two.

"No?" He asked coolly. He looked her up and down with venom.

"Well then, I'll leave you to it." He said. He turned quickly, as he headed for 221B. Within a few seconds footsteps were heard again, this time going toward the door.

Sherlock ignored several voices that had followed him to the door and was calling out for him. He felt a hand on his arm before he could open the door.

"Sherlock, let's calm down shall we, and think this through. It's too dangerous. Besides, this isn't something that you can bloody run away from. He's not an experiment gone bad." John took a moment to control his growing irritation. He imagined what must be quite a shock on anyone, much less Sherlock Holmes.

John looked into Sherlock's eyes as he spoke. "His name is William, William Boswell Holmes, and he is your…"

"Don't," Sherlock hissed as he pulled his arm free from John and opened the door.

John lost his temper. He got nose to nose with Sherlock and whispered with anger. "You can't run away. She did not make this child alone, or is this one of those neat little facts that you've deleted along with the solar system?"

Sherlock whispered back, "Watch me. I run rather fast."

"Sherlock please…" John pleaded more loudly.

"Don't follow me, I need to think," his eyes travel to Irene before he added, "Alone."

The small group had gathered in Mrs. Hudson's doorway. Mrs. Hudson, and Mrs. Holmes, put their arms around Irene, as they led her back into the apartment.

Mycroft watched without comment from the corner of the room.

"I'd like to kick his arse," Lestrade said irritably.

John hissed, "Get in line, mate."


	180. Chapter 180

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 180

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

1 It Begins.

2. Feed the Fire.

3. **Burn Baby Burn. (This week's post.) **Part **A** today/ Part **B** Saturday/ Part **C** Monday-Tuesday**.**

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate situations. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part III …**_ "Attack or Defend… Burn Baby Burn_**."

**Part B**

* * *

"_**Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow**_." ~Mary Anne Radmacher

* * *

**_Manchester Airport_**

_**Current Day**_

The couple sat close to the boarding gate. The woman looked around at the sea of humanity, as they passed back and forth. Her attention was drawn to a mother who busied herself, as she entertained her three young children. They were apparently playing some sort of guessing game. The children looked at each other, and spontaneously burst into a fit of giggles. She couldn't help the smile that captured her face. They reminded her of her grandchildren. She chuckled quietly, as she whispered to her husband. He nodded noncommittally.

An automatic, "Yes love," came out of his mouth.

An intercom announced the boarding of the flight to Italy. They both looked wordlessly at each other before they started to move.

The man sent off a quick email to their grandchildren before closing his Mac. He quickly deposited the laptop into a suitcase. She glanced again at the woman, who was four rows of seats behind her. The woman did not move. Apparently they were going to take a different flight.

As they moved toward the doors to the airplane, the woman caught the mother's eyes, and smiled. The mother smiled back.

The woman took her husband's hand. He looked down chuckling at her, as he squeezed it. They disappeared into the shuffle of people, which were entering the boarding ramp to the flight.

* * *

_**Current Day  
**_

_**Current Time**_

He suddenly turned into the alley. His long black coat swirled in protest at the sudden movement, before disappearing along with its master.

John quickened his pace. He broke into an easy jog. His eyes strained, as it adjusted to the dimmer light. A hand held him. Sherlock hand froze mid-air, before he could strike his friend.

"Hello dear," John said with raised eyebrows.

"What part of needing to be alone did you not understand?" Sherlock asked.

"You're Sherlock Holmes. The fact that you did not realize that you were being followed, is the reason that I am here. You are distracted Sherlock. You do not need to be alone." John folded his arms.

"What part of, I need to think alone, do you not understand." Sherlock challenged.

"What part of dangerous, do you not understand?" John held his ground.

Sherlock deflated slightly. But he was still not ready to give up completely.

Sherlock hissed in frustration. "I could've punched you, you idiot."

"I've had a punch or two in my time mate. I would've lived."

"I suppose Thomas is close by?" Sherlock asked finally.

John chose not to comment; he simply raised an eyebrow, and folded his arms defiantly.

Sherlock's mouth thinned as his eyebrows knit together in frustration, irritation, and a hint of something like relief.

"Don't speak!" The taller man hissed petulantly.

"Alright mate." John said as his arms gestured his surrender, and cooperation.

"That was speaking, John." Sherlock commented irritably. With the swirl of coat and curly hair, his long legs moved.

Without turning around, he added dramatically, "I want absolute quiet." He took ten steps before adding. "You might know me well, John, but I know myself better."

John quickened his pace; he was used to keeping up with his friend's long legs. John turned his head slightly to the right. Sherlock stride reminded him of a soldiers. It was as if he was heading for battle, or retreating from a war. He waited for it, it was not long before he heard his friend's voice again.

"I mean it's not as if I'm in the mood."

"Of course you're not mate." John said quietly, agreeably.

There was a few beats of silence.

Sherlock continued to look straight ahead with purpose. Of course, even the younger Holmes did not know what that purpose was. "I mean things happen in life, surprises come. It's not as if I can't handle it John." He stopped walking and turned to John with both hands on his hips. "You do realize that I lived alone years before you came along," Sherlock added irritably.

"Of course you did Sherlock." John said soothingly. He added his most comforting smile.

"I can handle stress John… I really can… I mean… Stress is a part of life… Never bothered me before…" Sherlock's rant deteriorated from there. Within seconds he was speaking in a foreign language. John thought it was French.

John raised an eyebrow, "Sure mate." John was not exactly sure, what he was sure about, but it seemed like agreeing with Sherlock was a good idea at the moment.

Luckily, Sherlock started to speak in English again. "All right, bombs are about to fly. They tried to kidnap my mother, brother, son. A son that I didn't even know I had, by the way, thank you very much! Irene is in danger, bloody hell; everyone I love is in danger. Bloody fabulous day, I would say!"

John listened quietly. He would have been shocked at the use of the word love, which dropped so freely from Sherlock's lips. But, Sherlock was so far gone, he doubted that Sherlock had even noticed that he had openly used the word, love. He could not be one hundred percent sure, but he was of the opinion that his friend was having a meltdown. Nuclear size, if he was to guess.

"By the way John, did I mention, I have a son! A son! Me! I can see the headlines now, _The Sociopath and the Baby_, details on BBC One." Sherlock twirled suddenly and started to walk again. The shoes tapped on the ground. It sounded almost painful. It was as if he intended to punish the ground for his frustrations.

John was a bit stunned by his sudden retreat. He jogged quickly to catch up. "Um, Sherlock, maybe we could _not talk_, a little more privately. How about we _not talk_ back at the flat?"

"I told you I don't want to talk." Sherlock rolled his eyes irritably at his friend's comment.

"Alrighty then," John said as he kept pace with Sherlock.

Sherlock exited one alley, daringly dashed across the road, and then entered another alley.

They walked in silence for a few seconds before John heard Sherlock's voice, again. "Babies are illogical, and messy, and have you seen what comes out of them John? I'll be a terrible father. That unfortunate child. I'll probably scar my son for life." Sherlock suddenly stopped. He stood next to a huge rubbish bin. "My son. My. Son. My son will… My… My son."

Terrified eyes turned toward John. "John, I have a son I have a…" Sherlock found it difficult to breathe. Partial breaths pulled in and out of his chest, with increasing effort.

"Sherlock, you're hyperventilating." John said, as he grabbed Sherlock's arm in case he fainted.

"I… Don't… Hyper – Hyperventilate, J – John." Sherlock said, with an approximation of a glare. It lost its sting.

"Sure you don't," John whispered sarcastically to himself. More loudly he said, "Let's not hyperventilate over here then. Sit down before you fall on your bum, and cracked that brilliant head of yours open. Where would we all be then without your magnificence."

Sherlock obeyed, as he focused on slowing his breathing down.

John stooped beside him. "You'll make mistakes, all parents do, but you will be a terrific father, Sherlock. Despite your rough edges, I have found you to be the most generous and caring of friends."

Sherlock looked at John. "I thought that I was an irritating sod," Sherlock looked down from John. "You may have mentioned that fact a time or two."

An uneven smile grace John's face. "Yeah, yeah you are that. Yet, I find that I would not change who you are, for all the gold in the world." John realized that he meant those words with all sincerity, odd that.

"What do I do John" Sherlock looked loss, which seemed out of place on the normally confident man's face. "How can I make it up to him for not being there at the beginning of his life? And, Irene, I don't know how I feel about what she did. I suspect she did it to somehow save me from responsibility, but that was not her right. That's why I avoid emotions John. They're unpredictable, messy, inconvenient, and confusing as hell. Part of me feels regret that she had to go through all of it alone. But, another part of me resents her for her strength. What am I supposed to feel John. Would you share it with me. Because for the first time in my life I haven't got a bloody clue. I don't think I have the answers. I'm not even sure where to start looking for them."

John looked at Sherlock as he sat beside him. He patted him on the thigh gently before frowning. "I don't have the answers Sherlock. But you're not alone. You have a family now, people who care about you, and little William. He will have an Uncle John who will be there every step of the way for not just him, but for his slightly irritating father."

Sherlock looked into John's eyes. There was the smallest hint of a smile on Sherlock's lips, as he looked at John. He saw his friend with new eyes. His respect for him increased even more.

"As I said Sherlock, I don't have the answers. But I know where we can start to look for them." John got up. He held one hand out toward his friend, as he said, "It's time to go home."

Sherlock exhaled quietly. He took John's hand and allowed his friend to pull him up. They then made their way toward the flat, walking side–by–side.

* * *

_**221B  
**_

_**Current Day**_

As he entered the flat everyone turned toward him. There was a sudden, quiet hush. He glanced at Irene to let her know that he was okay, that they were okay.

She stood and walked over with William. William had a curious look on his face as he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock returned Williams stare. His eyes were lit with curiosity, astonishment, and a bit of fear.

His hand ran unbidden through William's hair. At the same time, the child took one hand, and with a wet popping sound, he took his thumb out of his mouth. He felt Sherlock's face and nose, leaving wet trails behind. Sherlock smiled at the child. The child smiled back. After a few seconds of the two generations staring at each other, William laid his tiny head on Sherlock's chest. His thumb returned to his mouth. He sucked the sodden digit with enthusiasm. His eyes started to become heavy.

"He's so small John."

John smiled as his hand touched the side of William's head. "They usually are Sherlock."

"He looks like me."

"Yes, yes he does." John agreed.

At that moment, the Consultant Detective, someone who prided himself on being a sociopath years ago; felt a tug in his chest. He noticed that his breathing was a bit irregular. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noticed that everyone was looking at him and smiling. It was annoying.

"What," he asked in a whisper, not wishing to disturb the child. He wondered why his voice sounded funny.

Williams thumb had slipped out of his mouth. It laid loosely by his side. His eyes were closed. Every now and then he would try to force them open, as if he was fighting sleep.

"Nothing mate." John said quietly. He cleared his throat. His own eyes were strangely bright.

Sherlock noticed something drip on his suit jacket's lapel. He frowned confused for a second. He took one hand and made sure that William was secure. With his other hand, he touched his cheek. It came back wet. He rubbed his fingers together, as they easily slid back and forth. He had not noticed that tears had been flowing down his face. He put his free hand again on the child.

"I'm not sad." He looked curiously at his wet fingers, "Sentiment?" he whispered the question, as he looked at John.

"Yes," John said simply.

As Sherlock looked on, his best mate suspiciously wiped at his eyes, as he cleared his throat.

A fire came into Sherlock's eyes. They shone brightly through the tears. "I can't lose him John, I've just found him."

"You won't." A similar fire lit John's eyes.

That fire must have been contagious, because that fire moved from one person to the other, until the room was ablaze with determination.

Mycroft looked quietly around the room. His eyes rested on his nephew and his brother. He did not interfere. His mind worked quickly. If their eyes were fire, Mycroft Holmes' eyes held a storm.

* * *

A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. Part C Monday late or more likely Tuesday .

Love to all.


	181. Chapter 181

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 181

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

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Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

**A/N:** Hi everyone. Here is the last part. Sorry, I had a busy workweek, I meant for this to be up Yesterday. Enjoy.

1 It Begins.

2. Feed the Fire.

3. **Burn Baby Burn. (This week's post.) **Part **A** today/ Part **B** Saturday/ Part **C** today

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate situations. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

**Final Moves… Part III …**_** "Attack or Defend… Burn Baby Burn**_**." **

**Part C**

* * *

**_"Some days even my lucky rocketship underpants won't help."_**

~Calvin & Hobbes

* * *

_**221B Baker Street**_

_**Early Evening **_

Twelve hours had passed in silence. The past forty-eight hours had been exhausting for everyone involved. The agents, analyst, and experts had moved to one of Mycroft's office buildings with Agent Myers supervising. They continued to work. Mycroft had only arrived back minutes ago. Everyone gathered in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. Sherlock had finally crashed, after twenty-one straight hours awake. They left him to sleep on the couch with a government document clutched in one hand. Now the small group talked while he slept.

"I don't t want to state the bleeding obvious, but there's a lot going on. He has enough to worry about. The timing's all wrong." Lestrade argued quietly.

"There's never a right time with these things. Why make it into more than it is, just do it." Several eyes shifted to Donovan. She knew that no one asked her, and she was just there to help Lestrade. But she couldn't keep silent any longer. She shrugged and took sips of the cup of tea.

Mrs. Holmes, and Mrs. Hudson had given their opinions. Both women were for the idea. Molly leaned against the wall next to Thomas. Both were quiet. Irene was also strangely quiet.

John was careful to sip his tea. If he was truthful with himself, he agreed with what they were saying. It needed to be done. However, he also agreed with Irene. Sherlock should be a part of the discussion.

Mycroft had sat quietly listening, until now. "He considers everyone in this room his family. So… I suppose this would be considered a family intervention. There are benefits and risks." Mycroft paused briefly, "Can I see a vote of hands, if you agree that it needs to be done." Mycroft did not look at anyone but at the floor, as his hand rocked the umbrella back and forth, slowly.

Donovan's hand shot up enthusiastically, she took a sip of tea with her other hand. Mrs. Holmes, and Mrs. Hudson's hands went up a little slower. Molly looked around first, and then a hand rose almost shyly. Thomas looked at Molly, pursed his lips, and then raised his hand as well. Irene looked around, gave a dramatic sigh, then reluctantly raised her hand. Mycroft without looking up, raised his hand. Lestrade stayed in the corner with folded arms looking at everyone. All eyes were on John. John purposely did not look at anyone. He took several slow sips of tea, thought deeply, and then finally raised his hand.

John looked at Lestrade.

Lestrade rolled his eyes irritably, before muttering something that no one wished to interpret. He raised his hand as well.

Mycroft looked up for the first time. "All we need now, is for someone to tell him."

Everyone looked at John. John looked back, took the last sip of tea in his cup, before saying, "Cowards."

No one disagreed.

* * *

_**Current Day**_

_**Undisclosed Location**_

The beat of the music filled the space. Bodies pulsed, and swayed, in and out of rhythm, as they gyrated much too closely, to the person that they were dancing with. The smell of cheap perfume, mixed with sweat and alcohol, melted into a unique aroma, which filled the air.

Victor Gorbachova, sat at the back of the club. His arms were spread wide. He was dressed in shiny, synthetic clothing, and too tight trousers. It was as if he came out of a bad mob movie. He wore sunglasses even though the club's lights were dimmed and dark. He grabbed the glass of vodka, the second in minutes, and downed it. A brief squeeze of the eyes was his only indication that he had drank anything.

Victor smiled at Sebastian. "Here's what you wanted," his thick accent, combined with alcohol minced words, made it difficult for Moran to understand what he was saying.

"Is everything there?" Moran asked civilly.

"Of course, of course, comrade," Victor grasped Sebastian's wrist and shook slightly. He poured another shot of the strong liquor into the small round glass. His unsteady hand caused a few drops to coat the sides of the clear container, and run on to the wooden table. "Loosen up, have your pick of any here. It is the end of the world, is it not my friend."

Moran's eyes narrowed, as he looked at the drunken fool. His mouth tightened with distaste. The man was a blathering idiot. He could tell that the man would be a problem. Victor was the brother of someone important, someone high in the military ranks, a mere tool. Someone who didn't mind betraying his country, and family, for the rush of potent poison in his veins, and a forgotten face in his bed. Victor got him the inside information that he needed, and the final codes. Sebastian would play along. He plastered a false smile on his face, as his dark eyes examined the man.

Sebastian opened the briefcase, just enough to peek inside. He closed it with a blank expression. Once he confirmed the contents of the suitcase, he exchanged it for his suitcase full of money. It was Victor's turn to open the case slightly, and look. He smiled satisfied. His gold covered tooth, gently reflected the minimal lighting. Victor took out one large bill and called a scantily dressed woman, with thick, poorly applied makeup over. When she came, he took the bill and pushed it between her ample cleavage. She smiled at him and gave him a long, inappropriate kiss, before leaving.

Sebastian managed to keep his face impassive. He wondered how many diseases they had between the two of them. He had seen enough, it was time to go. Sebastian shook the man's hand, while giving farewell wishes. He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to raise his hands higher, and choked the man's neck.

Within minutes, he was walking out of the nightclub. Several large men had materialized from various corners of the club. They walked with him.

He was finally finished. He made the phone call to Moriarty.

"It's done Sir. The final pieces are in place." Moran glanced at the suitcase, he had locked it. The key easily slid into his inner suit pocket.

_Moriarty's amused voice floated through the phone line. "I hear it in your voice Seb. Go ahead and ask."_

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "May I?" He asked simply.

"_Go ahead and kill whoever you want, but be discreet. Mycroft Holmes is being particularly annoying. I would have rather hoped that he would have been in the hospital somewhere. I could've poisoned an IV and killed him, even though, he does deserve a far more dramatic death." There was a pause, "Oh, and Seb. I need you here in twelve hours. So, whatever you're going to do, you better get on with it. Have fun."_

"Thank you, Sir," Moran looked at his watch happily. He then turned, and made a call on his mobile. "Bring Gorbachova to me. And I am in a hurry, keep that in mind." Sebastian laid back and looked at the images that floated by his car window. It was too bad that he only had an hour, he thought.

* * *

_**221B Baker Street**_

"I don't understand," Sherlock said in a voice that barely resisted panic, "Who decided that this was a good idea?"

"Everyone but you," John said with raised eyebrows.

"But why?" The panic now crept into the younger Holmes voice.

John stopped suddenly and looked at his friend. Blonde eyebrows knit together, as crossed hands were unfolded. A deep breath was taken. "Sherlock, everything is uncertain. There is no telling what is gonna happen in the next forty-eight hours. I want you to know what I already know; you'll be okay with William…"

Sherlock interrupted. "But John, you can't!"

John looked at his friend, and folded his arms again. "Oh, I think I can."

William Holmes had been quietly sitting on John's chair, eating a chocolate biscuit. His legs swung back and forth happily. His two caregivers had left fifteen minutes ago, and would not be returning for six hours. He now turned his bright eyes onto the two men.

John noticed. He put a smile on his face before he walked over to the young child. William wiggled his fingers. John picked him up, as his smile became toothy. The young child seemed to have taken to John quite easily. He held him balanced on one hip, as he turned his attention back to his stubborn friend.

"Sherlock, don't panic, it will be fine. I'm just going to Tesco. End of the world and all. I have to get tea. I'll be right back." William had resumed swinging his legs back and forth, as John held him.

This time, Sherlock remembered to lower his voice for the sake of the child. He still managed to put his full venom in his moderate tone. "John Hamish Watson, you're walking out that door and leaving me alone with a living… breathing… child? Are You Insane!"

John sighed heavily, as he transferred William to Sherlock's arms "I trust you." At the look on Sherlock's face he added, " I'll be back in fifteen minutes." He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "And why are you doing that? Stop holding him like he's a bomb."

"With the traffic flow, at this time of the day, it will be closer to twenty minutes, John possibly twenty-five. And to answer your question, have you seen what comes out of the his two orifices?" Sherlock asked defensively with one eyebrow raised high upon his brow.

John smiled with sugary sweetness, "Like father, like son," he kissed William goodbye.

Sherlock pouted, at the same time that little William pouted.

John looked at both, "like I said, like father, like son." John rolled his eyes as he walked out the door with determination.

"John?"

He felt Sherlock's eyes follow him. Thoughts bombarded John's mind as he walked. He resisted the urge to walk back in.

_Sherlock would be fine, John told himself. _

_They both would. _

_And besides, this was necessary._

_Yep, I am still walking, he assured himself as he opened then closed the doors to 221B._

Sherlock stared in shock, as he heard the front door click shut.

Sherlock looked down at William. The energetic child was unusually quiet, as he stared back with curious eyes. He had to establish authority. He had outsmarted the most brilliant criminal minds in the world. What was the one small child to him, he assured himself.

Sherlock deposited William on the chair in front of him. He put on his best, most confident look of authority. His hands clasped firmly behind his back, as he started to walk back and forth in front of the child. Sherlock cleared his throat before his speech began. His voice held authority. "Little William, we are two intelligent men. Let's come to an understanding, shall we."

William's identical gray blue eyes gazed at Sherlock curiously, before a stronger pout came to his lips. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Sherlock looked at William. The false bravado left, the panic returned. "I am willing to compromise," he commented hopefully.

William started to whimper, as he bit his lips in a similar fashion to his father. Sherlock's panic increased.

"Oh God," Sherlock whispered, "John. Hurry."

* * *

John stood outside of the edge of the road, he glanced back up toward the window. His mobile phone was to his ear. He felt a little guilty but still made the call.

"Mycroft, I assume you have somehow snuck cameras into the flat." The normally polite man did not bother to say hello.

"John, are you accusing me of something…" Mycroft's voice was cautious.

John interrupted him tiredly, "Cut the crap and answer the question Mycroft."

"Perhaps?" Mycroft said carefully.

"Um," John hesitated for a few seconds, "Maybe it would be best…, I mean, since it's in the flat anyway…, I mean…"

It was Mycroft's turn to interrupt.

"I'll keep an eye on everything personally, and I have emergency services on standby a street away. A taxicab will be arriving in seconds. No need to pay. He's my man, of course."

John exhaled relief before thinking. "Um, Mycroft…."

"We never had this conversation John, I know." John disconnected. His eyes shifted to the approaching Taxicab.

He normally would walk but not today. He intended to be back as fast as possible. Within seconds, he easily climbed into the London taxicab. He didn't bother to say where he was going. John's eyes looked out the window, as he noticed two cars pulling immediately into traffic, and following.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, he closed the doors with a bag of groceries in his hand.

"Sherlock I'm back," there was no answer. John frowned and closed the door.

He called out again, "Sherlock?"

Again, there was no answer. John put the carryall bag down on the floor, by the door. John whispered, "Oh God." John took the stairs quickly.

"Sherl…" His words were cut short as he entered the main area, and looked to his left.

He closed his eyes and opened them relieved. "Finally, there's someone who has more energy than you," John chuckled quietly to himself.

Sherlock was asleep on the couch. William was asleep on his chest. One hand was wrapped protectively around William; the other hand touched the floor. Both of them had their mouth half opened.

"Like father like son," he smiled. John glanced down at mobile phone screen, as a text came in. There were only three words. He smiled to himself, as he glanced at the mobile phone screen, it said, _"They both survived."_

Mycroft does have a sense of humor after all, he thought. He looked around curiously. John had no idea where the cameras were. He gave a military salute in the general direction that he suspected the camera to be positioned in.

John pulled a duvet over the two sleeping forms. He quietly made his way back down the stairs, and picked up the grocery bag. He was extra quiet, as he made his way into the kitchen.

* * *

**_Deep into The Tunnel Systems of London_**

_**Current Day** _

_**5:15 AM** _

They were arguing. The portable light system had been set up, yet they were so deep in the tunnels, it cast a dull illumination. The deformed shadows of the ten burly men, were cast on the curved walls of the tunnel. The movement of the men, shifted the monstrous silhouetted outlines, in the underground area.

They normally would not have been there at that hour of the morning, but there was no choice. Everything had been moved up time-wise. The orders came from the top, the very top. No one argued with Moran, and lived. And no one even dared to say the name of Moriarty.

The heated conversations died slowly, as it gave birth to a stillness. A man walked up to the crate. He seemed important. He walked as if he was a man used to being acknowledged, and obeyed. With barely a nod, two of the men pushed crowbars into the seams of the crate. When the pops sounded, the sides loosened, and fell heavily to the ground.

The man in the suit walked up to the open crate. He peered inside. His face contorted with expressions that twisted between an ecstatic thrill, and absolute horror. His face became resolute. His fingers played with the metal object briefly; buttons were pushed. A high pitch squeal sound occurred, before three beeps sounded, and than silence.

Within minutes, the lights of torches retreated, as the light bounced in rhythm to the movement of the men's steps.

* * *

Yellowing eyes watched the entire event curiously. His dirt stained fingernails pressed softly to the cool, slippery edge of the tunnel's wall. He was a loner, almost no one came down this deeply into the ground. This was his home, his sanctuary. He only emerged for food and to beg. The word had been spread. But he was not one of them. Nevertheless, they had been kind to him, when no one was kind to him.

He pushed a matted strand of hair out of his eyes. It would be a long walk, but he knew a shortcut, which led up to the Tube. But, if he took that way, they would see him.

The people.

They always looked at him as if he was nothing. They wouldn't even look him in the eyes. As if his misery was contagious. Did they not know? He used to be one of them, long ago. That was before it happened, and the pain drove him to the bottle, and the bottle drove him into the dark. It was so long ago that he could barely remember.

He almost worried himself out of it. He had a choice to make and made it. He made up his mind. It was still early, but he knew where one of them would be. One of the man's people. He limped along with slow determination.

* * *

**_221B Baker Street_**

**_Current Day_**

Mycroft, and Sherlock were listening to an agent who was giving his report. Their Mother sat quietly observing from the sofa. Irene and Myers had taken the tired child back to the manor to be guarded. Everyone else had gone back to work, or back into protection.

Mycroft's eyes shifted around the room, before it came to rest on his brother. He pretended not to notice the subtle shifts of Sherlock's eyes. He would look at their mother, deducing. It was as if he could not believe that she was there, and wanted to understand everything that she had experienced, yet did not want to ask. There were papers scattered on every surface of the room.

The room was filled with activity. Sherlock had the idea that Moriarty, enraged by what he would have perceived as a failure, would have moved up the time-frame of his activities.

Mycroft's mind returned to his work, as he quietly tapped on his computer. After twenty minutes of quiet, Mycroft closed the computer screen, and rubbed his tired eyes between his fingers. He suddenly noticed something out of place.

After Sherlock's earlier outburst, it was too quiet. Earlier, he had declared that everyone was, "thinking too loud." That was right before he accused the agents and Scotland Yarders of being, "irritating in their incompetence." He then declare that it was difficult to think with so much people in the room. When Lestrade had been unfortunate enough to ask why, Sherlock has simply replied with a glare that, "He disliked being outnumbered, it made for too much stupid in the room.**_" _**Sherlock had ended the entire rant by declaring himself, too slow. Almost everyone had excused themselves, and moved into Mrs. Hudson's flat. Only Mycroft and his brother remained in 221B.

Sherlock was standing by the window. By his synchronized hand movements, his brother knew that he was in his Mind Palace. Mycroft sighed before pushing himself to his feet. He winced slightly as he pulled out two pills, and swallowed them, dry. He unhurriedly walked over to the window next to Sherlock, but remained silent. Mycroft glanced away from his brother's face, as he looked out the window at the busy London streets. Humanity passed before the window, clueless to the drama that was taking place.

Sherlock inhaled suddenly, as he blinked a few times. His widened eyes turned toward Mycroft. Mycroft tilted his head toward his brother. One look into his brother's eyes, informed him that Sherlock had deduced something of importance.

"Get Kevin Patel." The younger Holmes eyes held urgency.

Mycroft pulled out his cell immediately to carry out his brother's instructions, when he felt Sherlock's hand on his arm. He shifted questioning eyes toward his brother.

"Mycroft, you have to hurry; there isn't much time."

* * *

_**London, England **_

_**The Homeless Network**_

The young female ran up to the watcher. This watcher was the one who was in charge of the area that she slept in. She looked around until she spotted a dark-gray hood. There was a youth leaning against the wall, with his hands in his pocket. He was one of the leaders of the network.

The young girl wore a similarly colored hoodie. "Hey Milty, Dodger came ta me today."

Milty pushed his long hair out of his eyes as he frowned "Dodgy never comes up unless he needs some-in." The penny slowly dropped. His eyes widened, as sudden understanding came. Milty looked at the young girl and said. "Tell me everything."

Within minutes, the young girl was running to find Buzz. Milty was running in the opposite direction. It would be a long run, but Mr. Sherlock had said that it was important.

* * *

_**London, England**_

_**Thirty Minutes Later  
**_

Milty's breath was harsh in his ears. He rang the bell to 221B. A second passed. He became impatient and repeatedly pushed the doorbell.

The door suddenly opened. A tall, slightly irritated looking man in a suit answered. He had a stern look.

"I need to see Mr. Sherlock, now." Milty demanded.

The man looked at him doubtfully. "Who are you? What business do you have here?"

Milty rolled his eyes, and sidestep the man with the determination, and speed of youth. A commotion broke out, as the agent rushed to get him, and another joined in restraining the loud young man.

Milty barely noticed when muscular fingers released him. He looked up and Sherlock was between him and the men, glaring at them, and demanding that they release him.

The men slowly retreated. They kept an eye on the youth.

Sherlock turned to Milty and smiled apologetically. Milty looked, and noticed that Doctor Watson was now by his side.

"You hurt," John asked as he looked him over.

"Nah. I'm alright." He glared at the agents who had retreated to the corner.

Sherlock was looking the youth up and down. "You found something?"

Milty smiled. "Yeah."

* * *

_**221B Baker Street**_

_**Current Day**_

He had been expecting it, still his heart raced. This was it. Sherlock's mobile phone sounded in the room. He looked at John who nodded. The other agents, some with headphones on, nodded as well. Sherlock connected the phone call on the second ring.

_"You know what comes now." Moriarty's voice was almost cheerful. "By the way, you won't be able to trace this call. You won't know if I'm in England, or the jungles of Africa. But, then you already knew that, didn't you love."_

"Yes," the younger Holmes replied simply.

Sherlock took a moment to just breathe. He closed his eyes as one hand came and rested on his hip. "These are people, not your toys. This is not one of your little games."

_"Oh, yes it is." All traces of mirth left Moriarty's voice._

_"You look at people and you see puzzles. I look at people and I see games." There was a brief pause. "I'm your greatest puzzle, and you're my greatest game." There was a brief pause, "I do not intend to lose the game."_

Sherlock knew that it was useless but he had to try. "Don't do this."

_Moriarty's voice was dull and hollowed out, as if all emotions had been eaten away. "Sorry love. It's already done." Moriarty whispered.  
_

_"Here." _

_"We."_

_"Go."_


	182. Chapter 182

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 182

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

**A/N:** Hi everyone. We're on the third post. However, I ran into a little problem. I thought that the post was too big to give to you at one time. I didn't want to overwhelm. I broke it into three parts. Enjoy.

1 It Begins.

2. Feed the Fire.

3. **Burn Baby Burn. (This week's post.) **Part **A** today/ Part **B** Saturday/ Part **C** today

4. Ashes.

5. Epilogue

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate situations. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack _or_ all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

**Final Moves… Part III …**_** "Attack or Defend… Burn Baby Burn**_**." **

**Part C**

* * *

**_"All the worlds a stage, and all the men and women, merely players."_** ~ William Shakespeare

* * *

_**221B Baker Street**_

_**Current Day**_

The tall lanky man ran up the stairs. The organize chaos filled the room. There were several conversations. Mycroft, and Lestrade were in their own corner, speaking to their group. Every surface was covered with paper, computers, and cups of coffee or tea. Still, he caught their attention. Eyes turned.

Thomas ran up to Kevin Patel. He was followed closely behind by John, Sherlock and Mycroft. Mycroft noticed that the vein in front of the younger man's forehead was physically palpating.

"What did you find?" Thomas asked in a rushed voice.

A commotion sounded behind him, as Lestrade, Donovan, agents, and Yarders rushed toward the door.

Lestrade ran to Sherlock, as he caught his eyes hurriedly, and spoke. "That young fellow of your homeless network was right. We've evacuated the area. It would have killed the passengers who rode the Tube. I have to go."

The Detective Inspector felt a grab on his arm before he could leave.

"Don't be annoying and get yourself shot." Sherlock stared into the older man's eyes.

Lestrade smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Sherlock nodded as he let the DI go.

His attention immediately turned back to the young man who seemed to be hopping from one foot to the other, with nervous energy.

"We've decrypted the locations, there were seven in all. Five have been evacuated." Patel looked at his feet before adding, "Two sites are in the process of being notified of the need for evacuation... However…" He didn't finish; he didn't have to.

First, Mycroft looked at the young man curiously, he was rarely impressed with anyone outside of his brother. A thought occurred. He turned his eyes on Sherlock. Sherlock mimicked his brother's sour expression.

"We've missed one. They won't have any warning at all." Sherlock said to no one in particular.

"Yes," Mycroft agreed simply.

"How do you know that Sherlock?" John spoke for the first time in minutes, as everyone looked to Sherlock, and Mycroft.

Sherlock's eyes flashed with anger, and something else that was undefinable. "I know that because Moriarty wants to impress me. And because there's eight letters in my name, John."

* * *

_**The United States of America**_

_**White-house Dinner**_

_**Current Day**_

The President was giving a speech at a ball. Laughter filled the air at the appropriate times. Crystal candles centered each linen covered table. The American Secret Service had agents lining the room.

A beeping sound interrupted his speech. Curious eyes looked at the President, as he glanced at his beeper then frowned. Suddenly, another beeper sounded. In the corner of the room, a third rang out. Within minutes, men in tuxedos and a few women in dressed gowns stood and quickly left the room.

No one noticed when a glass of wine spilled then shattered on the table. The liquid absorbed into the off-white tablecloth, coloring it, red.

* * *

_**" A happy day? I'll take it away**_."

* * *

_**Tokyo**_

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

_**Five-fifteen AM**_

The buzzing sound woke up the government official. He rolled over tiredly in the bed, but had trained his body to become alert quickly. No one would call at this hour unless it was important.

The official spoke in his Japanese dialects, although his words were slightly slurred with sleep. "This phone call had better be because the world is coming to an end," he said with light humor. His hair stood up at odd angles. He stifled a yawn as he pushed his slightly oversize body, until it met the firm surface of the head of the bed.

He suddenly stilled. He blinked a few times to clear away the sleep, wishing that he was still dreaming, but knowing that it was anything but a dream.

His horrified eyes turned toward the clock on his bedside wall. The loud clicking of the second-hand dial, mocked him.

* * *

_**Tokyo**_

_**Current Day**_

_**Current Time**_

_**Five-seventeen AM**_

She was walking quickly. Her feet hurt. She sighed. She should have known better than to wear new high-heeled shoes on such a busy day. Even at this hour, there were a good amount of people in the building. She had been working all night and was ready to go to her small flat with her cat, and her comfy slippers. She sighed in anticipation.

Tokyo's Tall buildings were beautiful. Ayaka smiled as she looked at the multicolored lights from the other buildings. The pinks, greens, yellows, oranges, and blue lights lit beautifully, against the dark night background. The sun would be rising in less than two hours.

She turned the corner. Shin was walking up to her. Ayaka put on her best professional face, as she passed him. Shin's hands pushed a rebellious strand of long, dark hair backwards slowly. His Rolex watch glistened against the artificial lights. He smiled and winked at her, as he passed.

She kept her face neutral until he had completely past her. A smile lit her face.

Ayaka looked out of the, floor to ceiling, glass pane. She turned from the window to glance at her watch, when a blinding flash of light was seen out of one corner of her eye. Something pushed her in the air. Her body left the ground. She was flying, but that wasn't right, people could not fly. She felt tiny pellets, paper, and bodies hit her, fly past her, around her, under her. Was she still flying? She felt like eternity was squeezed into a few seconds.

The world and time, shifted into nothingness.

* * *

Several strands of her brown- colored hair flew in the wind like flags. She felt the hot wind first. She blinked repeatedly, her eyes starting to open, willing herself to wake. They rebelled and fought against her. Eventually, the battle was won and her eyes opened. She slowly and painfully pushed herself up to her elbows. She did not notice the crunch of glass beneath her hands. The window panes were completely gone now.

She looked around confused. Except for a low ringing sound in her ears, the world was silent. The color had disappeared. Everything was gray; shrouded in a gray dust. She looked a few yards away and saw something. It was a gray lump. She looked closer. That was a hand, a dust covered hand with a watch. It was a Rolex watch.

She noticed his open vacant eyes for the first time. She was wrong, not everything was gray. There was one other color. She noticed that darker color slowly spreading under his head.

Ayaka frowned as her mind tried to catch up with the reality of the horror that entered her eyes.

It finally did.

Someone was screaming. Long, primal, blood curdling screams. She did not hear. Her ears and her mind were broken. She could not know that the unnatural sounds were coming from herself.

* * *

_**The Coast of the United States of America, Bay Area**_

_**San Francisco 49ers American Football Stadium**_

_**Current Day**_

If there was ever a beautiful day for a game, this was it, he thought. A sea of bodies stood in the stadium. Hands were raised in unison, and placed on the heart, as voices joined in harmony to sing. The singer finished the last notes of the National Anthem. The crowds cheered happily.

The vendors moved up and down the stadium steps, like they were on escalators. They stopped and started, as they fed the crowd. Everyone seemed excited to be at the game, and away from where they had been all week.

The player's uniforms, the fake grass, the flags, the scoreboards, and the oversize electronic advertisements; overwhelmed the senses with color, movement, and sound. The moment was right, for beer, hotdogs, and colliding human bodies.

Down on the field the play started.

The home city quarterback squatted behind his line. A long legged, dark skinned player, with a perfect physique, tiptoed to the end of the line, and stood motionless. He looked like he could out fly the god Mercury.

The black and white stripe official, lean forward and harked. The volume of noise dropped in the stadium. As the quarterback yelped suddenly with the ball in his hand, making sounds that only his teammate could interpret.

The quarterback quickly fell back from the line, prepared to throw the ball. Suddenly, everything was in motion, the wide receiver shot down the field.

Suddenly, the round spear was hovering high in the air, matching the speed of the receiver.

The receiver caught the ball, and niftily sidestepped several opposing players. No one was anywhere near him, and he had fifty yards to run. He was showboating, and held the ball high in the air, looking back at the crowd. He didn't slow down but ran faster. The football fans roared.

* * *

The American Secretary of Defense, was enjoying the game. As a part of public relations, he had attended the game. It was an election year. It was one of the few times that his job was not stressful. He rarely got a chance to relax. He chuckled when he looked at the lone receiver who was far ahead of anyone else.

He took a bite of his hot dog before glancing down. His mobile phone sounded. He sighed as he looked at his mobile phone screen. He pushed a button that converted speech to text. He would not be able to hear. His eyes went wide with astonishment, as his mouth opened in disbelief. Before he could respond, several men in suits surrounded him and manhandled him out the stadium.

His pleas were ignored. He repeated three words over and over again.

The head of his Secret Service detail, replied to the Secretary of Defense, and said, "It's too late Sir. We have to follow protocol."

He still had to try. He insisted again. But, his pleas fell on deaf ears. "Get them out…" The Defense Secretary pleaded.

The car door slammed. The head agent hit the top of the car hood, to signal to the driver that he could leave. The black Cadillac Escalade truck peeled away from the parking garage. One truck drove in front. One truck drove behind. The sound of peeling tires was the last thing that the head agent heard.

The secret service agent hoped that the Defense Secretary would make it far enough away. He ran back into the stadium. He had to reach an announcer. He probably would not make it, but he had to try.

* * *

With a smile, the wide receiver looked back at the players he left in his wake. He heard a rumbling sound, and felt a fine tremor under his feet. A second of confusion entered his mind. This was San Francisco, he was used to earthquakes, but this, this was something else.

His strong athletic legs continued to stretch and contract, as he increased speed. He held on to the football reflectively. He turned his gaze to the back of him. The right side of the stadium disintegrated before his eyes. The left side crumbles slightly. At the same time, a blast of dust, soot, smoke, and debris, seemed to shoot up and outwards. This was followed by a heavy billow of dark gray smoke. It was surreal.

His head snapped forward. He ran faster. His own breath harsh now in his ears. Still, he held onto the ball.

He heard a strange sound. It was a tearing, screeching sound. He glanced backwards again. A huge tear appeared in the Astro turf. It was as if someone took the ground and ripped it in two, and that tear was moving toward him, fast.

Perplexed, he picked up speed, but the terror was moving faster. There was a simultaneous rumbling sound, which vibrated across the ground as he ran. He saw the whole stadium floor begin to heave and tear apart.

Chaos reigned, as people ran for their lives. The sound of screams joined the pandemonium. Smoke billowed from a huge gap behind him. Soon, debris flew upward from the hole. Everything seemed to be on fire. He fought to stay upright.

The movement of the ground, caused the receiver to stumble. Shocked by what was happening, he fell forward. But strangely, he did not hit the ground. It was as if a strange sort of hot wind blew him violently forward.

He wasn't sure how long it was before he opened his eyes. Probably only seconds. Sitting up, he twisted his body. He looked back, shaking. He realized with terror, that one foot lay centimeters from the opened, broken, hole in the ground.

The ground had disintegrated. Alarmed, he scampered back on his buttock, until he hit the partially erect cement wall. His body shook.

The ground had swallowed everyone. His team, the other team. They were gone. Vanished. It could not have been longer than two minutes, One hundred and twenty seconds. How can the world change so quickly? They were all gone. He was the only one left.

He opened his mouth to say something. Nothing came out. He closed it. He stared straight ahead, as a hot wind blew on his body. He looked down shaking, he opened his arms. He was a little sore, but otherwise seemed unharmed. He looked in shock, now realizing that he still had the football in his hands.

* * *

_**Over the Coast of the Mediterranean Sea**_

**_Current Day_  
**

Nine kilometers above the earth, the aircraft was cruising. The skies were surprisingly clear with just a few wisps of clouds below them. They would be arriving on time. There were two rows of passengers. Some were laughing, sleeping some were watching the telly. They were businessman and women who prepared for important meetings. Their hands flew back and forth hurriedly on their laptops.

A couple was watching quietly. His hand stroked his gray beard once before returning to the armrest. Over forty-three years of marriage had taught him when to nod at the appropriate times, while he kept the attention on his Mac. His wife occasionally whispered comments about the different passengers to him. He finished what he was doing and gently closed his laptop.

He looked over to his bride of many years. Her hair was mostly gray although he pretended not to notice when she colored it. She had a few more wrinkles, and a few more pounds, but her heart was still full of fire. His lips turned up slightly. She was still beautiful in his eyes. He simply looked at her. She stopped talking mid sentence, and stared oddly at him.

"What is it," she asked gently with a slight look of confusion.

He looked into the same gentle eyes that had looked back at him through good times and bad. He said quietly, "Nothing, my dear."

She smiled as he took her hand in his.

A sudden jolt of the cabin caused those walking to stumble. A, _put on your seatbelt_ light, started to flash in repetition.

The man looked out of the airplane window. His eyes narrowed as he squinted through his eyeglasses. His mouth opened slightly. Was that smoke coming from the wing of the airplane, he wondered slightly numb. He did not notice the click of his seatbelt, as his wife first buckled him in, before she repeated the process on herself. He ignored everyone around, but his wife. Some were stunned into silence, others gasped, or cried. Airline personnel were giving instructions. All other noises around him seemed to melt away.

Realization came to him. He knew before he saw it. There was an orange ball of fire with yellow edges that was licking greedily at the wing of the plane. Simultaneously, an unidentifiable sound traveled through the airplane cabin as it jerked violently this time.

He turned to his wife and saw her looking at him. Her eyes were shining with tears yet she refused to let them fall. One rebelled and escaped down her cheek. Her husband leaned in and gave her a kiss. That kiss was filled with sorrow, and joy, gratitude and apologies, and a deep, passionate love.

Their forehead touched lightly. "Don't be afraid," he whispered barely able to speak.

The airplane began to rock violently now, the oxygen cannulas dropped, some of the luggage broke free from their prison and dropped on both passengers and the floor. They both ignored everything around them.

The noise was getting louder, the shaking, more violent. She smiled at him as her lips shifted closer to his ear. She kissed it before saying, "I love…" She never had the chance to finish. She did not have to.

He knew.

* * *

The destruction was mimicked in several countries around the world. Most had minimal casualties, due to the warnings that were given. In each country a black mushroom cloud ascended upward. It gained velocity and violence. Many kilometers into the atmosphere, it finally spread outward, as it increased in volume. A strange, hot wind accompanied it.

Eyes of all different shapes and colors, looked out through varied colored skin. Young and old, rich and poor, all economical, and cultural differences melted away at that moment. It did not matter.

There were no black, red, yellow, or white men, there were only humans united together, in fear. Each one was determined to win the race, for their lives.

* * *

_**221B Baker Street**_

_**Current Day**_

John ran up the stairs and headed over to the telly. He caught Sherlock's and Mycroft's eyes. His face was grim.

The flickering light, and images from the television contrast with the beautiful pre sunset lights. She rose without realizing what was happening.

Mrs. Holmes felt her sons come beside her, offering a solid presence, and comfort. Her eyes never left the television. She reached out her hands. Her left hand clasp Sherlock's hand, her right Mycroft's. They both squeezed her hand reassuringly. No one let go for a few seconds. They were not ashamed of the activity that went around them.

Mycroft spoke first. "Well, brother dear, I think we have awoken the sleeping bear…,"

The BBC reporter continued to speak. There were images of twisted metal, soot, and blackened debris. Images of utter shock, and grief, contorted the faces of the bystanders, which the news cameras transmitted around world. The scene changed. From the utter destruction of the business area of downtown Tokyo, to one of the United States. It was San Francisco, apparently.

Crying individuals, some battered and injured, others blemish free, spoke in breathy tones. Professional reporters interjected comments, with practiced looks of sympathy.

The scene switched again. Now it was one of debris, floating luggage, and areas of oil on ocean waves. Black smoke and fire was still burning on spotted areas in the water.

Mycroft looked intently at the telly as he added needlessly, "... And I think the bear is angry."

* * *

A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. Have some tea. You probably need it.

This week optional fun question:

**_"I dislike being outnumbered, it makes for too much stupid in the room."  
_**

In which series and episode is this statement found in?

Have fun.


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